


We'll Always Have Paris

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Darren have been in a serious relationship for about two years when Chris is diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Plenty of angst, medical procedures, and hurt/comfort, but no character death. There will be a happy ending, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/gifts).



> Today's Mandy's birthday and when I asked her for any prompt she wanted me to write as a birthday gift, she prompted CrissColfer + cancer. This is why we are friends. (Hurt/comfort addicts for life, yo). Many thanks to Sam for betaing.

Darren's getting into bed one night with Chris after a particularly long, hard day on set when he notices the bruises on Chris' legs.

“Has Brooke been beating you up during choreography rehearsals again?” Darren asks. “Do I need to tell her to lay off my man?”

“Hmm?” Chris says, looking a little confused.

“Your legs,” Darren replies, gesturing towards them.

Chris sits up and looks down at the half dozen or so bruises scattered across his shins and knees. “Weird,” he shrugs. “I have no idea where or when I picked those up, but yeah, I'd assume Brooke probably had something to do with it. Or not, who knows, I'm clumsy enough on my own.”

“That's true,” Darren nods. It's a fact, Chris _is_ exceptionally clumsy. Darren lets it drop in favor of spooning up to Chris in bed, savoring the down time before their early morning call.

* * *

The next sign that something's not quite right comes a few weeks later. Darren wakes up in the middle of the night shivering. He lays in the dark for a second, trying to work out why he's so cold. Chris is still laying on his chest fast asleep and he usually runs pretty warm. Darren reaches down, stroking a hand across Chris' forehead out of habit and winces. His forehead is absolutely boiling and covered in thin layer of sweat. As Darren trails his hand down farther, he notices that Chris' undershirt is completely drenched in sweat too. Stomach clenching with worry, he tries to gently rouse Chris from sleep.

“Chris, hey, wake up for a second,” he coaxes.

Chris groans and buries his face in Darren's chest, obviously resistant to waking up.

“C'mon, eyes open,” Darren says a bit more loudly as he shakes Chris' shoulder.

Chris grumbles, but finally drags his eyes open. He frowns when he sees it's still dark out. “Darren?”

“Are you feeling okay? You're burning up and covered in sweat. You literally sweat through your shirt and I think mine too,” Darren explains with obvious concern.

“Don't know,” Chris whines. “I'm sleepy.”

“We should take your temperature, alright? And maybe change your shirt too?” Darren prods.

“Don't wanna,” Chris moans.

“You can stay right here. I'll bring everything to you.” Darren carefully extricates himself from Chris' octopus-like grasp and crawls off the bed, shivering again once he's no longer under the warmth of the duvet. The front of his shirt is soaked through with Chris' sweat, explaining why he'd been so cold earlier. He walks toward the bathroom, shrugging off his shirt and locating a thermometer and some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet. He roots around in the closet until he finds a suitable replacement t-shirt for himself and another for Chris.

“Okay sleepyhead, open up,” Darren commands once he makes his way back to the bedroom. Chris mumbles something indistinct but opens his mouth long enough for Darren to slip the thermometer under his tongue. He presses the button on the thermometer and then reaches over and flicks on a bedside lamp so he'll be able to read the display.

He watches the numbers on the digital readout quickly race upwards. Darren winces when he sees the number surpass 100 degrees and keep right on going. Chris is clearly running a fever. A few seconds later, it finally beeps. _101.6_

Darren sighs as he removes the thermometer. Chris barely even stirs. He grabs the half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand and taps two Tylenol from the bottle into the palm of his hand. “Chris,” he calls, nudging him a little, “gotta sit up for a second.”

Chris shifts restlessly but then opens his eyes with great reluctance. “What?”

“You're running a fever. Sit up so you can take this Tylenol, okay? And I got you a clean shirt to change into too.”

Chris lets Darren help him into a seated position, his limbs loose and pliant. “Are you feeling bad, hon? Does anything hurt?”

Chris shakes his head. “Not really, just exhausted.”

Darren nods and passes the pills and bottle of water over to Chris, waiting while he swallows them obediently. He takes the water back from Chris and sits it on the nightstand. Then, he reaches for the hem of Chris' undershirt, cringing as it sticks to his fevered skin when he goes to remove it. He finally peels it off and tosses it to the ground. Chris' upper body erupts in goosebumps almost immediately and he shivers. Darren grabs the t-shirt from the bed and helps Chris' slide it on, smoothing it over his torso.

“Okay, all set,” Darren says when he's done.

“I can sleep now?” Chris slurs drowsily.

“Yeah,” Darren agrees, switching off the lamp and making his way back around to his side of the bed. He reaches for Chris once he's settled, recoiling slightly at how hot Chris' cheek feels pressed against his chest, even through the thin layer of cotton. He wonders if he should text Ryan now and let him know that Chris is sick or if he should just wait until morning to see how he's feeling. He'll be loathe to leave Chris if he's still running such a high fever in the morning. He hopes that the Tylenol will kick in soon so Chris' fever breaks and he's not forced to choose between work or taking care of Chris.

* * *

When Darren wakes up in the morning, he's alone in bed. He frowns, dragging himself up reluctantly. He can hear Chris moving around in the bathroom so he heads off in search of him, hoping he's feeling better than last night.

Still, he's not expecting to see Chris rosy-cheeked and damp-haired, fresh out of the shower and dressed in Darren's ratty bathrobe. “Hey,” Chris smiles as he sees him. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” Darren greets him, a little confused. “I take it you are feeling better this morning?”

“Yup, good as new,” Chris agrees easily.

Darren furrows his brow. Chris looks healthy enough standing in front of him, but he also knows Chris is a workaholic who hates having to call in sick. He strides across the steamy bathroom, wanting to take a closer look at Chris before he makes up his mind. He reaches out a hand, feeling Chris' forehead and cheeks with the back of his wrist. Chris's forehead is cool and dry in stark contrast with how hot and clammy it'd been the night before.

“So, I guess your fever broke?” Darren prods.

“Looks like it. The Tylenol must have done the trick. Thanks, by the way.”

“You're welcome,” Darren smiles tentatively. He's still feeling a little uneasy about how quickly Chris went from deathly ill to perfectly healthy, but he tells himself he's just being a worrywart.

Darren keeps a close eye on Chris on set all day, just to make sure. But Chris powers through their rehearsals and scenes like a champ and by the time they call cut for the day, Darren's almost forgotten about the fever and night sweats.

* * *

It takes a few more weeks for the third symptom to crop up, but by the time it does, Darren's ready to take a stand. Overnight it seems, Chris goes from his normal full of boundless energy self to a walking zombie. It starts right after they get back from Coachella. Naturally, they're both exhausted from the days that blur into nights of music and partying and people. That combined with the noise and how hard it is to fall asleep in a tent, even the super swanky private one they rented for the weekend, would be enough to wear anyone out.

So, Darren doesn't think much of it when Chris spends his lunch break on Monday sleeping in his trailer instead of eating lunch with the rest of the cast and crew. But when it happens again on Tuesday and Wednesday and Darren can barely convince Chris to eat even a few bites of food, he starts to get a little concerned.

Chris shakes it off, saying he thinks he's coming down with a cold or the flu. A week later, there are still no cold or flu symptoms to be found, but Chris is every bit of exhausted as he was before. They go to bed earlier and earlier each night, but it still doesn't seem to be enough to chase away Chris' tiredness.

Darren finally puts his foot down the following Friday night. Chris got done filming earlier than him and they'd had plans to meet at Chris' house around 8 PM so that they could have a quiet night in with takeout and a movie. They were both invited to an upscale event that evening, but it's clear that Chris isn't up it. Darren's hoping a night of snuggling on the couch in sweats and sleeping in the next morning will be enough to get Chris back to his old self again.

He arrives right on schedule at 8 and presses the button for Chris' doorbell. He waits for a long while but there's no response. Frowning, he decides to try knocking on the door instead, wondering if Chris' doorbell has gone out somehow. Still no answer.

Now starting to worry, he walks around to the garage and stands on tiptoes to peer in through the high garage door window. Chris' car is parked inside, much as he'd expected it to be, so why isn't he answering the door?

He pulls out his phone and dials Chris' number. It rings and rings, eventually going to voicemail. Darren redials immediately, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again while he waits to see if Chris will answer the call. After six or seven rings, Chris _finally_ picks up.

“Mmff, hello?” he rasps out, his voice scratchy and soft.

“Chris? Are you okay?” Darren's voice is thick with relief.

“Sleepy,” he murmurs.

“I've been ringing the doorbell and knocking and calling you for at least five minutes. Did you not hear me?”

“Sorry, guess not. I'm just worn out.”

Darren starts to say something about how Chris has been worn out for almost two weeks now and obviously something more is wrong, but he stops himself. It's a conversation that will go better face-to-face. At least, he hopes it will. “Can you come let me in?”

“Yeah, be down in a sec.”

It feels like it takes Chris forever to make it down the single flight of stairs and out to the entryway to unlock the front door. As soon as Chris lets him in, Darren's holding him by the shoulders so he can look him over carefully.

Chris is pale, quite a few shades paler than his usual fair-skinned self. He has dark, almost bruise-like circles under his eyes that even the makeup girls at work have started to comment on. He looks drained. He looks _sick_.

“What?” Chris says with a scowl, scrutinizing the way Darren is staring at him.

“I'm worried.”

“About?” Chris snaps, a little harsher than Darren is used to.

“You, obviously.” Darren starts to say more but stops himself when he notices that Chris seems a little unsteady on his feet. “C'mon, let's go sit down, then we can talk,” he directs as he steers Chris towards the couch, keeping a guiding hand on his lower back the whole time.

“Chris, you haven't been yourself lately. Something's wrong. I want you to make a doctor's appointment and get checked out, okay?” Darren insists once they are seated.

Chris rolls his eyes. “I'm just tired. It's not the end of the world. You know our schedule is crazy, it gets to everyone.”

“This is different. It's not like you only need a good night's sleep and you'll be fine again. Hell Chris, you were asleep before 10 PM last night and you still slept through a doorbell, me knocking, and several phone calls. That's more than just exhaustion. You've had other weird symptoms too.”

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me,” Chris shoots back.

“Well, there's the part where you've started looking like someone's personal punching bag because of how many bruises you've gotten lately.”

“I'm a klutz. This is not news to you.”

“Usually you have at least some idea of where or when you got them though. These are in really random spots too,” Darren's voice is quiet but firm. “Then there was also that weird fever and sweating episode a few weeks ago.”

“So I'm dying now, is that it?”

Darren makes a frustrated noise, running his fingers through his hair. It seems like Chris has an excuse ready for every symptom he brings up, but it's not _nothing_. His gut tells him he needs to get Chris to a doctor and fast. He's not sure if he should try the sympathetic boyfriend route or go straight to playing dirty and threatening to call Chris' mom.

“Look, I know that doctors suck. I'm not a huge fan of them myself. But if this was you telling me you were this worried, I'd go to ease your mind. And yeah, probably a little to get you off my back too,” he admits. “I'm not saying you're dying or anything, but you've been feeling crummy for long enough that I think it's apparent it's not going to get better on its own. So, will you just make an appointment, please? For me, if not for yourself?”

“Ugh fine,” Chris finally grumbles. “You owe me big time though.”

“Honey, for the rest of the weekend, I'm your slave. Whatever you want, you've got it,” Darren purrs into Chris' ear, eyes sparkling wickedly.

“Hmm, I quite like the sound of that.” Chris cups the line of Darren's jaw and draws him forward for a kiss that starts slow and sweet but quickly progresses into something downright filthy.

They trade kisses back and forth for several minutes before pulling back, panting and more than a little drunk on each other. In the end, Chris winds up leading Darren by the hand up the stairs to the bedroom to continue what they'd started on the couch and the takeout is momentarily forgotten.

* * *

“Darren?” Chris gasps into the phone.

“Hey.”

“Can you talk now?” Chris speaks urgently.

Darren’s face falls, not liking the panicked note in his voice. “Yeah, just give me a second to sneak out of this meeting. Is everything okay?

“No,” Chris says flatly. Darren gulps.

He quickly makes his way to the door, not even bothering to explain the situation to the half dozen friends that have joined him for an impromptu songwriting session. They'll either figure it out or they won't. Darren doesn't really care, he just needs to know what's wrong with Chris immediately. “Okay, that's better. I can actually hear you now. What's wrong?”

“I just finished with my doctor's appointment.”

“Oh, _right_ ,” Darren murmurs, heart sinking as he starts to connect the dots. “I'd almost forgotten that that was today. What'd he say?”

“Uh well, he found something during the exam?” Chris shakily explains.

“Something?” Darren sits down on the front stoop.

“A lump, right above my collarbone. He said it was an enlarged lymph node.”

Darren tries really hard not to jump to conclusions, even though they are starting to stare him in the face. “Okay, what does that mean?” he inquires instead.

“He wasn't sure, but he was concerned enough that he also drew some blood. I guess my blood work was out of whack too.” Chris' voice is thick with tears now and Darren just _knows_ it's bad.

Darren's heart is hammering in his chest. “I take it that's not a good sign?”

“No,” Chris gets out with some difficulty. Then, so softly that Darren can barely hear him, he whispers, “he wants me to have a biopsy.”

“Jesus,” Darren breathes. “When?”

“As soon as the surgeon can fit me in. He was going to call the surgeon he typically refers his patients to and see if he could squeeze me in sometime in the next week.”

Darren tries to sound calmer than he feels. “Hopefully he's just being cautious?”

“That's not the vibe I got during the appointment,” Chris manages before breaking off into a sob.

“Where are you right now?” Darren's already fumbling through his pockets, grateful when he finds his car keys there. He doesn't want to have to go back inside to explain this to his friends right now. All he wants is to get to Chris, the sooner the better.

“The parking lot outside his office. I was too upset to drive afterwards and I just needed to hear your voice,” Chris chokes out.

“I'm going to come get you,” Darren tells him, already on his feet and headed to his car.

“You don't have to do that. I – I'm sure - I'll be fine to drive soon. I just – just need to calm down,” Chris mewls.

“Yes, I do. You're in no condition to drive. Besides, I want to see you now,” Darren confesses, swallowing hard against the growing lump in his throat. “Just text me the address. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

Chris sniffles. “What about my car?”

“I'll send someone to pick it up later tonight. Don't worry about it, okay? That's not important right now.”

“Okay,” Chris sighs in relief. “I'll see you soon.”

* * *

By the time Darren gets there, Chris seems a little less freaked out. His eyes are puffy from crying and his nose is red but he's dry eyed, thankfully. That still doesn't stop Darren from hopping out of the car as soon as he shifts it into park and enveloping Chris in a tight hug.

“Hey,” he whispers into Chris' hair. “Hanging in there?”

“I guess,” Chris murmurs. “God, this sucks.”

“Yes, it really does,” Darren agrees.

“Darren, what am I going to do?” Chris' voice breaks slightly as he gets the words out.

“What do you mean?” he asks, pulling back so he can see Chris' face. “You're going to do exactly what the doctor recommended: get the biopsy as soon as possible and then we'll go from there.”

“But what about work? We've still got another two weeks of filming before the summer hiatus,” Chris reminds him.

“Fuck work,” Darren says with a tad more bite than intended. “Chris, this is your health. It's way more important than some silly show. You'll let them know what's going on and they can film your scenes up front or write you out of something if they need to. They'll understand.”

“I just hate this, all of it,” Chris whimpers.

“I know you do,” Darren sighs. “I hate it too.”

“You know what I hate most? The uncertainty. That's what's really killing me. If something is wrong, I just want to know that now for sure. I mean what if the biopsy is positive? What if it's cancer? Then what?” Chris rambles, tears starting to track down his cheeks again.

“Chris, it won't be. That's not going to be you,” Darren starts to reassure.

“You don't know that. You _can't_ know that,” Chris insists, his blue eyes staring Darren down until he feels like Chris is looking into his very soul.

“It's what I believe, what I'm choosing to believe. But baby, no matter what, we're going to get through this together. I'll be right there with you every step of the way, holding your hand the whole time, okay?” Darren promises, threading his fingers through Chris'.

“Swear?”

“I swear,” Darren manages, feeling surprisingly close to tears himself. “Now c'mon, let's go home.”

* * *

That night they get into bed uncommonly early. They both lay in the dark, the air thick with the heavy things they are thinking about. Darren feels so helpless, knowing how scared Chris is. He desperately wants to make it better, wants to take away all his pain and fear and doubt. At a loss for how else to help, he tentatively reaches for Chris and he's relieved when Chris falls into his arms without hesitation. Chris rests his head on Darren's chest and Darren presses a kiss to his hair.

“How are you doing, honey?” he asks at last, wanting to fill the silence.

“I don't know...”

“Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Me too. Not because I think anything's going to happen to you, because I know you'll be okay. I have to believe that, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch you go through it,” Darren tells him.

“If you know I'll be okay, then why are you terrified?” Chris wonders, thumb drawing idle circles on Darren's chest as they talk.

“Because you're upset and I can't fix it. That's what scares me the most, not being able to help.”

“You _are_ helping,” Chris says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Really, I am?” Darren's not being modest. He honestly doesn't believe he's done anything to help ease Chris' pain. He feels totally powerless, worthless even.

“Of course you are, Darren. There's a reason why you were my first and only call today after my appointment. You were the only one I needed to talk to, the only one I wanted to hold me and tell me it would all be okay.”

Darren smiles in the dark, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope at knowing he's done at least one thing right today. “It's all going to be okay,” he promises, his voice hushed and reverent.

“God, I hope you're right.”

* * *

On the day of the procedure, it's hard to say who's more of a nervous wreck: Chris or Darren. Chris takes the pre-surgery preparation like a champ, barely flinching when they have to insert an IV into his hand. Meanwhile, Darren can barely look at the needle without getting so woozy he's worried he'll pass out. He holds Chris' free hand the whole time, no longer sure who's supporting whom.

Once the pre-surgery prep is done, it’s obvious that the waiting and nerves are starting to get the better of Chris. He fidgets on the gurney, biting his fingernails down to little nubs and checking the clock every five minutes. It's clear he's ready to get the biopsy over and done with, and Darren is right there with him on that.

The surgeon comes to see Chris right before they take him back to start the biopsy. He introduces himself since it's the first time Chris or Darren has ever met him and quickly outlines the procedure. Then, he briefly reviews Chris' medical history and pulls on a pair of gloves so that he can examine Chris himself.

He feels around Chris' neck and chest for a moment until his fingers find what they are seeking. He pulls out a marker that looks a bit like a Sharpie and makes a dot directly over the center of the enlarged lymph node. Satisfied, he shakes hands with Darren and Chris once more and then turns to leave the room, promising he'll come out to give Darren an update once the biopsy is complete.

Soon after he leaves, the anesthesiologist comes in to take Chris to the operating room. Before she moves his gurney, she injects some medication into his IV that has his face going slack almost immediately as he smiles dopily up at Darren.

Darren can't help but grin back at Chris, despite the growing anxiety in the pit of his stomach. “Feeling better, Chris?” he asks.

“Muuuuch better,” Chris slurs. “I feel drunk.”

“Drunk is good,” Darren chuckles, stroking his cheek.

“Okay, we're going to take him back now. You can follow us and I'll show you where the day surgery waiting room is on our way,” the anesthesiologist tells him.

Darren gathers the bag that holds the clothing Chris wore to the hospital this morning in one hand and takes Chris' hand in the other. He walks alongside the gurney, feeling like his heart is being squeezed in a fist at the idea of having to part ways with Chris so soon. Rationally, he knows the biopsy is pretty minor procedure and that Chris will be in good hands, but he still feels like someone let all the oxygen out of the room as his heart races unsteadily.

“Alright, so that's the waiting room right over here,” the anesthesiologist points to a mostly empty room with dozens of vinyl covered chairs and ancient magazines. “Once the biopsy is done, his surgeon will come out and talk to you.”

Chris gazes up at him with an utterly unguarded and vulnerable expression. The thought of leaving him alone, even for a short amount of time, makes Darren ache. He takes a deep breath and leans over Chris to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I love you,” he says softly. “I'll be there when you wake up, okay?”

“Love you too,” Chris replies, giving his hand a weak squeeze. As Darren pulls back, he can see the naked anxiety on Chris' face underneath the haze of medication.

“Everything's going to be fine, Chris. Don't worry,” he tries to soothe him.

Chris' head bobs rapidly up and down and side to side, making it hard to tell if he's nodding or shaking his head no. Maybe both? Something about the amount of conflict that single gesture conveys has Darren’s eyes welling up unexpectedly.

“I love you,” he repeats one final time. Then he lets go of Chris’ hand, swearing he feels a strange phantom pain as he breaks their bond and watches Chris’s gurney glide through the double doors and out of view.

* * *

Darren winces in sympathy at the sight of the bulky bandage that's just barely visible above the neck of Chris' hospital gown as he's led to his cubicle in the recovery room after the biopsy. He takes a seat beside Chris' bed and immediately reaches for his hand.

Chris is out like a light, snoring softly. He's attached to an impressive array of monitors and medical equipment that all beep, hum, or whir in different rhythms. Darren's struck by just how young he looks in sleep, his cheeks rosy and his hair mussed and curling over his forehead. Darren brushes the hair off his temple, his breath hitching in his chest as Chris starts to stir.

“Chris?” he calls, squeezing his hand. “Are you awake?”

Chris moans quietly and turns his head towards the sound of Darren's voice but doesn't open his eyes.

“Hey, I'm here, baby. Everything went fine. Just rest right now.”

Clearly Chris isn't really registering what Darren says, because moments later he's dragging his eyes open, blinking up at him through heavy, sleep-slowed eyes.

“Hi,” Darren breathes, fingers trailing down to cup Chris' cheek.

“Darren,” Chris manages in a quiet, rough voice. “Is it over?”

Darren nods. “All done. You did great.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers, swallowing hard.

“Okay, I'll tell the nurse. Hang on.” Darren leans towards the opening in the curtain that surrounds their cubicle and manages to catch the eye of Chris' nurse.

A minute later, she's stepping into the room. “Hi, did you need something?” she asks.

“He's in pain,” Darren replies.

“Okay, let me go get his pain medicine. I'll be right back,” she tells them.

Once she's gone, Darren looks down at Chris again, stomach flipping unpleasantly as he sees a single tear running down Chris' cheek.

He gently wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. “It's okay, Chris. She just went to get your medication, but she'll be back soon, alright?”

Chris can only muster a weak nod, squeezing Darren's hand tightly.

“I know it hurts,” Darren sighs. “Not much longer.”

The nurse reappears soon after. “Can you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten, with ten being the highest?” she asks.

“Maybe a seven?” Chris whimpers.

She walks over to Chris' IV and injects a medication into one of the ports. “That should kick in really soon,” she informs them. Once the medicine has been administered, she busies herself with taking Chris' vital signs. She jots the numbers down on a small notepad and then turns to Darren. “I'll be back in a few minutes to check on him. Let me know if he's still in pain or gets nauseous in the meantime, okay?”

“Will do. Thank you,” Darren replies gratefully.

When Darren turns his attention back to Chris, he's relieved to see that his brow is no longer tensed in pain. It's a step in the right direction. “Is the medicine helping?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Chris rasps out. “When can we go home?”

“Hopefully in an hour or two. They want to keep an eye on you for a little bit to make sure the anesthesia has mostly worn off before they send you home.”

“Was the biopsy positive or negative?” Chris slurs as his eyes fall closed again.

“We won't know for a week, remember?” Darren reminds him.

“I want to know now,” Chris says in a shaky voice.

“Me too, honey. Me too.”

* * *

Chris and Darren spend the next week jumping each time the phone rings. Darren does his best to keep Chris distracted, but the looming threat of the biopsy results is never far from either of their minds. Darren is relentlessly positive, at least in front of Chris. But inwardly, he’s every bit as terrified that they won’t get the good news they are seeking. He does his best to keep the recurring nightmares he’s been having about Chris dying a secret, but Chris clearly senses something is up, judging by the way he comments on the circles under Darren’s eyes. Neither of them really talk about it because it won’t help. The only thing that will help is getting a reprieve from the surgeon.

It takes one full week before the phone finally rings with the news they’ve been waiting for. Chris startles when he looks down at the phone in his hand and sees it’s the surgeon’s office calling. He accepts the call with clumsy, shaking fingers.

“Hello?” he answers. “Yes, this is Chris.”

Darren watches Chris’ face. He can’t really hear what’s being said to him, and he doesn’t want to interrupt the conversation to ask Chris to switch to speakerphone. He figures he’ll get the gist of it from seeing how Chris responds.

Chris is quiet for several moments that feel like an eternity and then all the color drains out of his face and Darren just _knows_. His heart pounds so fast that he can hear the blood whooshing in his ears. There’s no reprieve coming. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Darren takes Chris’ hand, biting his lip to keep tears from falling. Chris’ face goes stony and impassive as he listens to the surgeon explaining the results in more detail. Darren can literally _see_ him shutting down before his very eyes. Darren wishes he had Chris’ skill for compartmentalizing. This is one time he’d gladly welcome not being able to feel anything. But instead, Darren’s feeling enough for the both of them, and the primary emotion he feels is pure terror. He doesn’t know how they’ll get through it except that they have no other choice.

“Okay,” Chris murmurs. “Sure, Wednesday is fine. Bye,” he finishes and then hangs up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, avoiding Darren’s gaze. Darren waits for as long as he can, but there are so many things he needs to know. “Well?” he eventually prompts, squeezing Chris’ hand.

Chris finally looks at him, his eyes watery and shocked. He just shakes his head sadly. “Not what we were hoping for.”

Darren swallows hard and then pulls Chris into arms. This is one of those times when words just won’t do. There’s no combination of words in the English language that can make this okay. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into Chris’ hair.

Chris holds himself rigid at first, not really hugging Darren back. It’s as if he thinks he can keep himself together emotionally as long as he doesn’t allow his body to relax. Darren runs a hand up and down his back, trying to comfort him even though it’s clear Chris isn’t really ready to be comforted. “Chris?” he says, trying to work out what he needs.

Chris draws a shaky breath. “Darren,” he mewls and then he breaks, sagging into Darren’s embrace as his body wracks with sobs.

“I’m here,” Darren repeats again and again. He doesn’t tell Chris it will all be okay, because he can’t promise that yet. He can only hope.

* * *

After a very long, difficult weekend filled with many more questions than answers and nearly two full days spent at the hospital so Chris could undergo numerous scans, Darren and Chris are finally sitting in front of one of the top oncologists in the country, tests in hand, ready to get an opinion on Chris’ prognosis. Darren feels as prepared as he can be, at least knowledge wise. He’s thrown himself into the research, pestering former college buddies that are now medical residents to translate the medical jargon for him when he comes across something he doesn’t understand.

Chris, on the other hand, has spent the last few days staring off into space. Every time Darren tries to ask him what he’s thinking, what’s he feeling, he shrugs the questions off. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to be distracted from the bad news either. It’s one of the first times since he met Chris that Darren has no clue what’s going on inside his head.

Chris’ stubborn refusal to talk just makes him feel all the more helpless. He’s hoping that today’s appointment will help put to rest some of Chris’ fears and get them back on the same page again. They need to be a team if they are going to get through this hellscape intact. But Darren’s starting to realize that it’s next to impossible to form a team with someone who refuses to play the game or even to acknowledge that the game exists.

After a brief examination, the oncologist tells Chris he can get dressed and then they can meet him in his office. Darren hands Chris his shirt, watching him shiver a little when he tugs off the scratchy cotton gown. He’s not sure if it’s due to his anxiety, the temperature in the room, or if he’s running a fever again, but either way it makes Darren want to pick Chris up and spirit him away from this place to protect him from all the shitty things to come. Chris just looks so young and exhausted and _lost_ that it breaks Darren’s heart.

Darren grabs Chris’ hand as they walk down the hallway and into a spacious office with floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with hundreds of leather bound medical tomes. There’s a dark wooden desk in the center of the room and several upholstered chairs clustered around it. Framing it is a large window with a gorgeous view of the medical campus. The abundant sunshine feels like it’s mocking Darren as he sits down in one of the chairs next to Chris, still stubbornly holding fast to his hand. There’s nothing cheerful or sunny about where they’ve found themselves and why.

Dr. Milligan asks a few additional questions of Chris, but pretty quickly the visit shifts from information gathering to a vast information dump. And _damn_ is there a lot of information for Darren to digest. He scribbles notes on a small pad in his lap, interspersed with questions every so often just to make sure he’s understanding what he’s hearing. Quickly, they settle on diagnosis of Hodgkin's Lymphoma, Stage 2B, to be exact. It’s better than having Stage 3 or 4, obviously, but Darren was really hoping for Stage 1. However, he tries not to let the disappointment show on his face, not that Chris would notice since he seems pretty occupied with picking imaginary lint off his pants. He’s been deadly silent since they entered the room, and Darren isn’t sure if he’s even processing anything that Dr. Milligan is saying.

“Okay, this is usually the point in the conversation where I like to pause and give patients and their loved ones a chance to catch up and ask any questions they may have,” Dr. Milligan announces. “Have you been following me okay so far?”

Darren nods, looking down at the three pages he’s filled to the margins with notes and various resources to research when he gets home. He's a bit overwhelmed, but there's nothing specific that needs clarifying. “I think so,” he says at last. “Chris?” he asks, squeezing his hand a little.

“Hmm? I'm fine,” Chris mumbles, voice sounding distant even though he's sitting less than a foot away. Darren doesn't know how to respond to Chris, so he just looks back at Dr. Milligan, saying “I guess we're both good then,” with a helpless shrug.

“So, next we need to talk about treatment options,” Dr. Milligan continues. “Lymphomas tend to respond best to chemotherapy or a combination of chemotherapy and radiation. In Chris' case, I'd like to start with just chemotherapy and then go from there. If he responds well to the chemotherapy, then we wouldn't need to do radiation.”

“You can't just cut it out?” Chris asks suddenly, his expression darkening. “Can't you surgically remove the lymph nodes or whatever?” It's the first indication Darren's had that Chris has heard a word of what the oncologist has been saying so far.

“No, unfortunately this is not a type of cancer that responds well to surgical intervention, especially in your case where it's in several lymph nodes. Chemotherapy is the best way to target it and be sure that we got all the cancer cells so it doesn't reoccur later, I'm afraid.”

Chris deflates before Darren's very eyes. “Will I lose my hair?” he asks in a trembling voice.

“Most likely,” Dr. Milligan apologizes.

Darren reaches out and rubs Chris' bicep and upper arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to even ask that. Chris stiffens under Darren's hand, and he goes back to staring out the window, clearly trying to block out reality a little while longer. Darren wishes he had that same option, but he knows someone has to be present enough to take in what will happen over the next few months. It feels like a big responsibility and it terrifies him, making him feel like Chris' life is _literally_ in his hands. But all he's wanted since they got the biopsy results is to be able to do something, anything, to help Chris. If this is what he needs, Darren is determined to do it. It's not nearly enough, but it's all that he has, so he clings to it like a drowning man to a life raft.

* * *

The drive home from the appointment is eerily silent. Chris stares dazedly out the window at the cars rushing by, still retreating into that far corner of his mind that Darren hasn't been able to coax him out of all week. Darren's mind, on the other hand, is buzzing with all the information that's been dumped into it over the past two hours. He feels like his brain is so overfilled that his head might explode at any moment. He wants desperately to talk about it, to compare notes with someone so that he can even begin to comprehend what's happening, but there's no one. Chris isn't ready for anyone else to know and he certainly doesn't want to talk about it himself. The only other people who know about Chris' diagnosis are his parents. Usually, when Darren has a problem, Chris is the first one he turns to for advice and support. Only this time, that won't do, because Chris is the problem that needs solving.

Chris' phone begins to buzz in his lap. He looks down at the screen and sighs heavily.

“Who is it?” Darren asks.

“My parents. It's the third time they've called this afternoon,” he says flatly.

“You should talk to them. I'm sure they're really worried,” Darren gently nudges.

“I – I _just_ – I can't. Not right now,” Chris' voice breaks. Darren looks over and sees that Chris' face is agonized, tortured even. It's the first time since that horrible phone call with the surgeon that he's seen any real trace of emotion from him. Darren hates that he's driving so he can't comfort Chris properly.

“Okay,” Darren exhales. “If you aren't ready, you aren't ready.”

“They aren't going to stop calling though,” Chris chokes out. “Can you just...?” he lets the rest of the question hang in the air, seeming unsure if he's asking too much of Darren.

“Of course,” Darren breathes. He knows it won't be an easy conversation to have, but it'd be a hundred times more difficult for Chris.

“Thank you,” Chris manages, voice thick with unshed tears. “I'm going to dial them back now and just pass the phone over to you, okay?”

Darren nods, accepting the phone as it begins to ring. Chris' mom answers almost immediately.

“Chris?” she gasps into the phone, already on edge.

“It's Darren actually, Mrs. Colfer,” he replies.

“Oh, I told you to call me Karyn, honey,” she gently scolds. “Is everything okay? Is Chris -”

“Everything's fine,” Darren interrupts in his haste to reassure her. “Well, not fine, exactly, but as well as can be expected given the circumstances. Chris is just really... worn out,” he finishes lamely, though it must have been an acceptable excuse because Chris nods gratefully and gives him a small thumbs up.

“Of course, of course,” Karyn responds. “He should rest. How did the appointment go?”

“I think pretty well. I liked the oncologist a lot. He's got good bedside manner and as you know, he came highly recommended,” Darren begins. It had taken quite a few favors to get Chris in front of Dr. Milligan so quickly, but he thinks it was worth the effort.

“Was he able to settle on a diagnosis?” Karyn asks.

“Yes, Hodgkin's Lymphoma, Stage 2B,” Darren reports.

“Hang on, let me grab a pen so I can write this down,” she worries. “Tim, can you hand me that pad of paper?”

“Uh actually, I took a bunch of notes during the appointment. If you want, I can just scan them and email them to you when I get home?” Darren offers.

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you, Darren,” she says gratefully. “Did he talk at all about treatments?”

Darren bites his lip, knowing that this will be the hard part. “Yes, they want him to start chemotherapy soon. Sometime in the next two weeks, most likely. Depending on how he responds to the chemo, it's possible he could need radiation too. We won't know for sure until he's done a few rounds.”

Karyn sighs heavily into the phone. “That's not what he was hoping for, is it?”

“No, it really wasn't.”

“How is he?” Darren can hear her worry through the phone.

Darren looks over at Chris. His eyes are shut but Darren's almost positive that he's not asleep. “I honestly have no idea. Not great, I suspect?” There's so much going unsaid but he thinks Chris' mom will probably understand what he's getting at.

“He did the same thing with Hannah, you know?” Karyn whispers into the phone, as if what she's saying is some secret that she doesn't want anyone else to overhear. “When she was really sick and it looked bad, he just... went somewhere else. He wouldn't talk or eat or do anything, really.”

“I - yeah, uh - sounds familiar,” Darren stammers. “How long did that last?”

“A few weeks, probably. He’ll get there in time. It just helps to be persistent or even stubborn,” Karyn says in shaky voice. Darren nods as he processes the information. Stubborn he can do. It’s probably one of his better personality traits. Also his worst, depending on what he’s being stubborn about.

“I’ll keep trying,” Darren promises.

“I’m glad you're there with him. I think we’re going to come down sometime soon,” Karyn sniffles.

“When were you thinking?” Darren inquires. Chris sits up at that, turning to face Darren with a frown.

“What’s she saying?” Chris whispers.

“They want to come visit,” Darren mouths back. Chris shakes his head.

“Sometime soon, maybe for his first chemo session? I’ll have to check with Tim about his work schedule first.”

“Of course, sure. I’ll let Chris know what you’re thinking and you two can discuss it later,” Darren recommends. He’s not going to be the one that tells Chris’ parents they shouldn’t come, even though that seems to be what Chris is trying to signal. Darren hopes by that point, he’ll have managed to break through the armor Chris is using to shield himself from reality. Maybe once he starts letting people in a little, he’ll be ready and willing to accept his parents’ support.

“Thanks, Darren. We’ve been going crazy here, not knowing what was going on. I appreciate you giving us a call to keep us updated. And you’ll email me those notes when you get home? Chris has my email address,” she reminds him.

“Definitely, as soon as we make it home, I’ll scan them in.”

“Tell Chris we love him, okay? And hopefully he’ll call us once he’s ready,” Karyn adds.

“Will do. Take care,” Darren agrees and then hangs up the phone.

“So?” Chris prods as he accepts his phone back from Darren.

“So…” Darren echoes. “She said to tell you that they love you.”

Chris sighs heavily, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Does she know I’m avoiding talking to them?”

“I wouldn’t say she _knows_ necessarily, but I think she suspects that something’s up,” Darren shrugs. “Moms are intuitive like that.”

“I suck,” Chris murmurs guiltily.

“Hey _no_ , you don’t suck,” Darren swears. “You’re going through a lot right now, everyone gets that.”

Chris rubs at the side of his neck like he often does when he’s nervous or stressed, his fingers tracing the flat pink scar above his collarbone left behind after the biopsy. “I take it you weren’t able to talk her out of coming to visit?”

“I really didn’t try,” Darren admits. “I just told her to talk to you about the details later. I figured by then you might change your mind?”

“I won’t,” Chris insists.

“Chris, they’re your parents - why wouldn’t you want them to help take care of you?” he asks. Darren knows that Chris didn’t quite have the same idyllic childhood that he was lucky enough of to have growing up, but he’s always been fairly close to his parents and sister. It makes his reluctance to see them all the more baffling.

“It’s just… too much, okay? I don’t need a bunch of people fussing over me. My mom will cry and worry, my dad will be uncomfortable because he doesn’t handle emotion well, and I don’t even want to think about what it would do to Hannah. Stress makes her worse, you know that. It wouldn’t be good for her to be here,” Chris explains, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“So, in other words, you want to protect them?” Darren’s eyes widen in recognition, realization dawning.

“I guess? And it’s probably a bit of self-preservation too, because the second I see them, this all becomes real,” Chris confesses.

Darren thinks for a long moment, wanting to choose his next words carefully. He senses that they’re stepping around some real landmines, and the last thing he wants is to be the reason that Chris goes off.

“Here’s the thing: you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I mean, you were just diagnosed with cancer, for fuck’s sake. If there was ever a time to be a little selfish and let yourself be coddled, this is it,” Darren speaks with absolute conviction.

“I know, but that’s why I’ve got you,” Chris replies, totally serious.

“And you always will have me,” Darren vows, reaching over and ruffling Chris’ hair affectionately.

“Promise?” Chris’ voice is barely a whisper.

“With all my heart.”

* * *

“We need to talk,” Darren introduces with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer over dinner.

It's a conversation that's been looming large in his mind for several days. He's spent three sleepless nights trying to see the issue from every possible angle. Once he was sure he knew what he wanted, he talked it over with the people he trusts most in the world aside from Chris: his mom, Chuck, and Joey. They all had various reservations, but he knows he has their support if push comes to shove. Besides, the only person whose opinion really matters on the topic is Chris.

He looks across the table at Chris. The guarded, fretful look in his eyes makes Darren realize how badly what he said must have come across.

“No no, _shit_ , not like that,” he rushes to reassure. “That wasn't the beginning of a break up speech.”

Chris swallows hard and looks at his hands. “I'd understand if it was,” he says quietly.

Darren tosses the napkin on his lap to the table as he stands, crossing so he can give Chris a hug. “Are you crazy? I could never,” he promises as he holds Chris tightly. But Chris basically refuses to surrender to Darren's embrace, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, just biding his time while he waits for Darren to give up. It's like trying to hug a mannequin. Lately, no matter what he does, Darren can't seem to get a read on him. Even when he's right there next to Darren, Chris still feels miles away.

Darren barely suppresses his sigh of frustration as he finally pulls back. He sits down in the chair next to Chris, his meal momentarily abandoned. He's been hoping that this conversation will help ease the tension between them, but he's growing less sure of that by the moment.

Darren opens his mouth to start his whole practiced spiel but then closes it again when he sees a moment of naked anxiety flicker across Chris' face. There's no point in delaying the inevitable with flowery speeches about what Darren wants and why when he knows it will only prolong Chris' misery. It's probably best to rip off the bandaid all at once.

“I want to come out,” he confesses, staring directly into Chris' eyes to gauge his reaction.

“No,” Chris says in a low, unemotional voice.

“No? Just like that, no explanation necessary?” Darren is disbelieving. “I'm not sure that decision is solely and entirely up to you.”

“Then why even bother to ask me? Call up People magazine and tell them you've got next month's cover story,” Chris retorts, calling Darren's bluff.

“I wouldn't do that because I'm aware that my decisions will affect you too. We're supposed to be a team, right? I want this to be a choice we make together.”

“Well, I'm saying no. That's my choice and I'm sticking to it. End of discussion,” Chris folds his arms across his body defensively.

“Oh, it's hardly the end of it. We're only getting started, my friend,” Darren huffs.

Chris glares back at him and drops his fork to the plate with a muted clatter. “I'm not hungry anymore. I'm going to bed.” Darren's not allowing the conversation to end there. He's never been one to give up so easily.

Chris pushes his chair back from the dining room table and stands to leave the room, so Darren hops to his feet as well. He'll trail Chris through the whole house if that's what it takes to get him to see reason.

“I want to be alone right now,” Chris demands.

“Tough shit, because you aren't getting rid of me that easily,” Darren rejects.

Chris' eyes go dark with anger. He looks ready to explode. “If you care about me at all, you'll drop it.”

“I beg to differ,” Darren argues. His jaw is clenched in frustration as he stares at Chris, refusing to back down. But Chris isn't giving up without a fight either so they just glower at one another, waiting for someone to end the stalemate.

“It's the only way,” Darren says eventually, trying a different tact. “C'mon Chris, be reasonable.”

“I'm _trying_ to be,” Chris manages, sounding close to tears. “That's why I can't let you do this.”

“What would you have me do? Sit at home twiddling my thumbs while you're having chemo and god knows what else? Did you _actually_ think I'd agree to leave you to go through that alone?” Darren scrubs a hand over his face.

“I won't be alone. I have parents. I have friends. You aren't the only who who cares about me, you know? The fact that you think you are is insulting, frankly,” Chris snaps.

Darren purses his lips, hating Chris' particular knack for twisting his words. “I don't think that. I know you'll get plenty of support from your friends and family. That's never been up for debate. I just don't understand why I can't be one of those people supporting you?”

“Because the price is too high,” Chris whispers.

“It's not,” Darren insists.

“Yes, it is.”

“Says who? Chris, do you think I give one single fuck about what people will say? Do you honestly think my career is more important to me than you? What kind of messed up priorities do you think I have?” Darren challenges bitterly, feeling the familiar flood of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the selfish thing had been waiting this long to be honest with everyone about who he was, though he knows it's not a decision he'd made alone. Still, Darren knows if he'd stepped up sooner, there would be no need for argument now, because everything would already be settled. It's hard not to regret the circumstances that led him to this very fight.

“Your career might not mean much to you right now, but it will some day. And if you change your mind or regret your decision down the road, it's not like you can go back in the closet. This isn't something you can take back,” Chris tries to reason with him.

“I know that. I'm not stupid. But we both knew this day was coming eventually. You never seemed to have a problem with it when it was a hypothetical?” Darren lets the implication hang in the air because he really doesn't understand Chris' stubborn resistance. Doesn't Chris want him there with him?

Chris shrugs. The casualness of the gesture feels like a slap in the face to Darren. “So maybe I changed my mind? Isn't that my prerogative?

“No, that's not good enough. I think I deserve a real explanation at a minimum. You owe me that,” Darren spits out.

“Fine, you need an explanation?” Chris rolls his eyes. “How about this: you have no idea where we're going to be in six months, let alone a year.”

“...and?”

“And you expect me to let you throw your life and career away when you don't even know _if_...” Chris trails off, shaking his head ruefully.

“If what? Finish that sentence, Chris.” Darren rakes a hand through his hair, exasperation oozing from every pore. “If we'll still be together?” he guesses.

“If I'll still be alive,” Chris speaks flatly. “Just think, you could blow up your career and any semblance of privacy in your personal life for nothing. Then all that's left of me one day will be the ruined lives I leave in my wake. That'll be my entire legacy.”

Darren feels like he's been hit. _That's_ what this is about? Chris thinking that he won't be here in six months or a year to experience the good things on the other side? He fights his natural desire to tell Chris that he _will_ be there, that this health crisis is just a bump in the road and that Darren knows to his very bones that they’ll get through it together. It's something he's repeated until he's blue in the face. The odds are in Chris' favor. He has one the best oncologists in the country. But saying that out loud has never done much besides piss Chris off. Darren still doesn't understand why, but he knows that Chris is already plenty pissed off at him, and he has no desire to make it any worse.

Instead, Darren decides to address the last part of Chris' statement: his legacy. “Are you kidding me? How can you think that? You could die tomorrow and you know what your legacy would be? All the lives you saved, not ruined. Just look at that giant stack of fan mail you keep in your office. You can see the thousands of letters from kids all over the world who felt alone, the misfits and outcasts that couldn't believe their lives would ever get better until they saw you. All those lost parents who didn't know how to accept and love their children, just because they were different, and then you came along and showed them there was a better way,” Darren's eyes bore into Chris', trying desperately to covey the sincerity behind each and every word he's saying.

“It's not them I'm worried about. It's you,” Chris finally admits, chin quivering.

“Well, you don't need to be. If today was your last day on earth, I'd still have enough happy memories to last me a lifetime. No matter how much pain losing you would cause, I'd never regret it for a second. We have every reason to believe you're going to live a long and healthy life and that this will only be a temporary setback. But even if it wasn't, even if all hope was lost, I'd still want to be able savor every last minute I could with you. I'd want to be by your side until the very end. The only thing I'd truly regret would be if I wasn't able to be there for you. If I couldn't hold your hand while you had chemotherapy. If I couldn't curl up in your hospital bed and hold you close. If you locked me out and kept me from being at your side, how could I not grow to resent you? _Please_ Chris, don't do that to me. Don't do that to _us_ ,” Darren begs.

“I...” Chris gasps out, tears rolling down his cheeks. Darren notices for the first time how fast Chris' chest is heaving as he takes short, shaky breaths. His skin is quickly going ashen, all the color from his earlier anger drained out of him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Darren questions much more gently. Chris is visibly trembling, shaking like a leaf, and he either can't or won't reply, Darren's no longer sure which it is. His eyes are wild with panic, and he eventually shakes his head no.

“Breathe, Chris, you've got to breathe.” Darren reaches out a hand and carefully guides him to the couch. “Here, put your head down,” he suggests since Chris is hyperventilating. He may not be a doctor, but Darren still knows a panic attack when he sees one.

“It's too – much. I – can't. Not right – now,” Chris pants.

“Okay,” Darren acquiesces. “We don't have to decide anything tonight. Just try to breathe a little slower,” he encourages, rubbing his palm up and down the length of Chris' spine. “In, out, in, out,” he models, taking long inhales and slow exhales, trying to get Chris to breathe more regularly.

“But soon?” Chris asks once his breathing slows enough that he can talk again. “We don't have that much time to decide.”

“I know,” Darren gulps. Why does it always feel like time's running out?

* * *

“Chris?” Darren calls out in the darkness later that evening. They both lay side by side in bed, not touching and not sleeping. The tension between them crackles in the air like lightning on a hot day.

“Yeah?” he tentatively replies a few seconds later.

“Are you still awake?” Darren asks.

Chris sighs heavily. “What do you think?”

“Please don't be mad at me,” Darren requests, his stomach still tied in knots from their earlier confrontation. He doesn't know how to fight with Chris. Usually, he's the first to concede defeat, needing things to be harmonious more than he needs to win. But this time, they aren't fighting over who washed the dishes last or who should compromise when Darren wants to go out to an event and Chris wants to stay in. This time it's personal. This time Darren doesn't want to lose. He simply can’t afford to.

It's quiet for so long that Darren's starting to wonder if Chris hadn't heard him somehow. Just when he's about to give up and try to sleep, Chris whispers, "I'm not."

“You could have fooled me. It seems like you had to think awfully long and hard about that for someone who isn't mad,” Darren points out.

“I just have a lot on my mind right now, okay?”

“So let me lighten the load a little. Talk to me,” he prompts.

“These aren’t the kind of problems that can be solved by talking, Darren. You can't fix it. It's not that easy this time,” Chris sounds resigned.

Darren massages his temples, trying to think of the best way to respond. “I know I can't fix it, but maybe I can help, even just a little? I don't know everything you're going through, but I've got some idea what -”

“No,” Chris interrupts. “You don't know what it's like for me. You have no idea what this feels like and you can't, okay? So stop trying.”

“I don't know what else to do. Giving up isn't in my nature. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. _Please_ , just tell me what to do,” he pleads openly.

Chris rolls to face Darren. His expression softens as he sees the tears glittering on Darren’s cheeks and he reaches out to wipe them away. “I don't know what to tell you. I wish I did, but I'm still trying to sort through everything. I'm not _trying_ to shut you out, but there are certain things that just make me feel really alone.”

Darren reaches for his hand. “You're not though. You know that, right?”

Chris nods and squeezes Darren’s hand gratefully. “Don't you dare start singing 'Not Alone,'” he admonishes, trying to ease the tension.

Darren snorts, feeling the tightness in his chest abate ever so slightly.

“I do want you there. At the hospital, I mean. I think you should just be there,” Chris concedes.

Darren breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, so what does that mean?”

“I still don't want a big announcement. That would mean constant media scrutiny and being trailed everywhere by paparazzi, which is last thing I need right now. So just be there. If it gets out, it gets out. Can't we just give it a shot and hope for the best?” Chris suggests.

“It's worth a try,” Darren agrees. Secretly, he has his doubts that they’ll manage to squeak by undetected, especially with how much time they’ll have to spend at the hospital in the coming months, but he doesn't say that to Chris. He's got enough to deal with right now.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Darren asks. He feels like all he's done today is caused Chris additional stress and anxiety.

“For not giving in. For wanting to be there enough to be willing to do whatever it took. I know it's not easy for you either. Some days I'm not sure which of us has it worse,” Chris shakes his head ruefully.

“You're worth it,” Darren soothes, threading his fingers through Chris' hair and pulling him close for a kiss. It's the first time he's really breathed all day.

* * *

They arrive at the hospital just after 6 AM on the day of Chris' first chemotherapy session. Thankfully, the lobby is nearly empty when they arrive and no one gives them a second glance as they walk by hand in hand. Chris has an appointment in the Radiology department first so that they can place a PICC line, a more permanent IV line that will run from his elbow through a vein up his arm to just outside his heart. The oncologist promised them that it would save time in the long run and cut down on the number of needle sticks Chris has to endure for IVs and blood draws. To Darren, it’s clearly the best possible option, but Chris seems more nervous about getting the line placed than the chemo itself. Darren had pulled up a picture of what it would look like in a clumsy attempt to assuage Chris’ fears. Somehow seeing it had only doubled Chris’ anxiety rather than reassuring him. It's just another in a long succession of things he wishes he could do for Chris so he didn't have suffer through them instead. Darren’s not the bravest person in the world, but seeing Chris so miserable makes him wish they could swap places.

Darren gives Chris a kiss on the cheek when they call his name. “See you soon,” he murmurs.

Chris’ face blanches as he shakily climbs to his feet. Darren can tell he's trying to put on a brave face but it's a stretch. He wonders if he could charm the nurse into letting him walk Chris back to the procedure room. He's not sure how much good it would do in the long run, but he doesn't want to leave Chris any more than Chris wants to be left on his own. So, he stands with Chris and takes his hand.

“What are you doing?” Chris frowns.

“Walking you to the door. Is that okay?” Darren wants to know.

Chris' shoulders slump in relief. “More than okay.”

A young woman in a ponytail and pink scrubs meets them at the door marked 'Radiology: Do Not Enter.' The bright color of her uniform seems surprisingly out of place given their drab surroundings and Darren's stormy mood.

“Patients only beyond this point,” she announces apologetically. “Sorry, but I promise we'll take good care of him,” she vows, beckoning for Chris.

“Good, because he's very precious to me,” Darren's voice is thick with emotion.

Chris looks at him in shock, drawing a shuddering breath. He’s still not used to the luxury of public displays of affection after several years confined to the shadows. “Love you,” he says.

“Love you too,” Darren replies immediately. He stands at the door, watching Chris' retreating form until the door swings shut, feeling like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Chris returns sporting a new set of bandages just above the elbow of his left arm. Darren's on his feet immediately and making a beeline for him. He scans Chris' face, noting with no small amount of concern that he's several shades paler than he was when they set out for the hospital earlier that morning. Darren wouldn't have thought that was even _possible_ until he was seeing it with his own eyes.

“Hey,” Darren greets Chris, wrapping an arm around him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris manages. “We're supposed to go up to eighteenth floor now.”

“Okay,” Darren answers on autopilot. “Do you need to sit down for a minute first? Or I could go try to find a wheelchair?” he offers, scanning the lobby.

“You realize I haven't even had chemo yet, right?” Chris makes a face. “I'm not an invalid.”

“I know that, but you're just really pale. It's kind of freaking me out. Did it hurt a lot to get the line put in?” he worries aloud.

“Not really. They numbed my arm first and that's the only part I really felt. It was just gross. I don't know, it's hard to describe. I don't like having something hanging out of my arm,” Chris shudders. “I feel like a cyborg.”

“You'd be the cutest cyborg I've ever seen,” Darren chuckles. “But remember, it's only temporary.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris exhales slowly. “Alright, let's get this show on the road.”

Darren keeps a protective arm around Chris' waist as he guides him to the elevator. _One down, one to go_ , he thinks.

* * *

Chemotherapy ends up being mostly anticlimactic. The nurses come in, take Chris' vital signs, give him a couple of medicines to prevent nausea or an allergic reaction, and then hook him up to a drip. Every fifteen minutes, someone comes by to check on Chris, asking the same questions about how he’s feeling and checking his vital signs again and again. It's slow and tedious and Darren is pretty sure he's going to crawl out of his skin. His gaze keeps dancing back and forth between the IV bag that he knows is essentially dripping poison into Chris' veins and Chris' face, expecting the worst.

“Stop staring,” Chris mutters grumpily after Darren looks a little too long for what's got to be at least the tenth time.

“Sorry,” Darren apologizes, dropping his eyes to his hands instead.

“You're so fidgety,” Chris observes. “Why don't you go take a walk? Get some fresh air or something?”

“Nah, I'm fine. Besides, I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around,” Darren says guiltily.

“I don't need taking care of right now though. I actually think I might take a nap,” Chris yawns, leaning back in the recliner.

“Good idea. You didn't get much sleep last night,” Darren acknowledges.

“Neither did you. Although I guess you're used to getting by on fumes and caffeine at this point, hmm?” Chris teases.

“That seems to be my default mode, yes,” Darren laughs despite himself.

“My little energizer bunny,” Chris mumbles sleepily. “If you see a vending machine, could you get me a ginger ale? Or a Sprite if they don't have that?”

Darren narrows his eyes, suspicious that the request is less for Chris' benefit and more for Darren's as it forces him to get up and take a walk. Still, he's itching for the chance to feel useful, so he'll play along.

“Coming right up,” Darren salutes as he climbs to his feet. He chances one final look back at Chris as he opens the door to head down the hall in search of refreshments. Chris' eyes are closed and Darren can tell he's fallen asleep, the slightest hint of a smile still on his lips.

* * *

By afternoon, they are winding through Los Angeles traffic, headed back to Chris’ house. Chris was a little woozy when walking to the car after chemo and he’s been strangely silent ever since then, which is doing nothing to soothe Darren’s anxiety.

Chris stares out the window, his face angled away from Darren so he can’t get a good read on him without taking his eyes off the road and potentially inviting a car accident. It seems like the last thing the two of them need at the moment, so he forces himself to keep his eyes on the road. He hopes that Chris is just resting his eyes until they make it home. Then he hears Chris sigh and shift slightly and realizes that he’s definitely not napping.

“Still doing okay?” he asks for what’s probably the hundredth time today. He’s even annoying _himself_ with how worried and over-attentive he’s being, though he’s not sure what the alternative would be. It seems like caring too much is still preferable to seeming too nonchalant or not caring at all. At least, he hopes it is.

“Been better,” Chris manages in a tight voice.

“What’s wrong? Nauseous?” Darren’s immediately on edge. He sees Chris nod his head in his peripheral vision.

“Do you want me to stop somewhere?” he offers, scanning the freeway for the closest exit.

“No,” Chris groans. “Let’s try to make it home.”

“Okay,” Darren agrees. He takes one hand off the wheel and lets it fall to Chris’ shoulder, rubbing at the spot where his shoulder and neck join. “Not much longer,” he promises.

Chris whimpers. Darren looks at him and _wow_ , he can actually see the slightly greenish tinge to his skin. It’s abundantly clear that they aren’t going to make it home. Darren starts signaling to move into the far right lane, just as Chris moans, “pull over.”

Darren makes it to the shoulder just in time, his car half on the asphalt and half on the grass. He hits the button to unlock the car doors and Chris gets his open barely in time to throw up all over the ground.

Darren pushes up the center console so he can slide across the seat to be closer to Chris. He rubs his back while Chris retches. It’s all he can do and it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay,” Darren whispers, holding Chris up with his free hand because he’s worried that he’s going to wind up landing face first on the pavement with how violently he’s vomiting. It’s awful and it seems to go on for far too long before it finally, _blessedly_ , stops.

“Napkin?” Chris requests, his voice rough.

“Hang on, I’ll find one,” Darren opens the glove box and locates a half empty packet of Kleenex which he passes to Chris. “Do you want water too?”

Chris shakes his head no emphatically. He wipes his mouth and tosses the soiled tissue to the ground. Then he sits back, head thumping against the headrest of the seat. “God,” he sighs, “that was fairly horrible.”

“I know, honey,” Darren frets, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from his temple. “Should I get back on the road or do you want to sit here for another minute to make sure you’re done puking?”

“Home, please. The faster, the better. Can I borrow your sunglasses? My head is killing me,” he asks. Darren wordlessly slides them off his face and hands them to Chris.

He eases back onto the highway as soon as he safely can. Chris folds in on himself like a cat, curling up in the fetal position in the seat with his legs against the passenger door. And even though it’s probably not the safest way to drive, Darren stubbornly keeps hold of his hand the rest of the way home.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, they finally pull into the cool, quiet garage. Darren was planning on carrying Chris inside, but it’s not necessary since Chris sits up with a start the second he turns off the ignition.

“Hey, easy, it’s okay. We just got home,” Darren soothes. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh,” Chris pulls a face, massaging his temples.

“That bad?” Darren frowns. “Hang on, I’ll come to you,” he tells Chris when he starts to open the door. Chris shoots him a grateful look and leans back in his seat.

Darren grabs Chris’ bag from the backseat and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he walks around and opens the passenger door. “Can you walk?” he worries, not liking Chris’ color. He’s barely eaten anything since his diagnosis. Darren isn’t sure how Chris even had anything in his stomach to throw up.

“Think so. Kinda dizzy though,” he replies in a clipped voice. Darren extends a hand to help Chris to his feet and then winds his arm around his waist to steady him when he starts to sway.

They make it inside, with Chris progressively putting more and more weight on him until he’s practically carrying him. “Couch or bed?” Darren asks, because he’s honestly not sure if they’ll make it upstairs at this rate.

“Couch,” Chris utters. “Stairs might kill me.”

They walk through the kitchen and into the living room. Darren carefully eases him down onto the couch. He kneels on the hardwood floor in front of Chris and cups his cheek. “Hey, are you going to be okay for a second if I run upstairs for supplies?”

“Supplies?”

“Your anti-nausea medicine is upstairs,” Darren answers.

“Oh, thank god for that,” Chris sighs in gratitude. “Will you bring me my toothbrush too?”

“I’ve got you covered,” Darren tells him. “Don’t move, okay?” He plants a kiss on Chris’ forehead and stands, his knees creaking with the effort.

“Gonna make it, grandpa?” Chris chuckles under his breath. The sound is like a balm to Darren’s weary soul. He takes great delight in flipping Chris off as he heads for the stairs.

“Can you grab my blanket - the green one? And a pillow,” Chris adds as an afterthought.

“On it.”

* * *

Darren returns a few minutes later with a small trashcan, which he places on Chris’ side of the couch in case he needs to throw up again. He tosses Chris’ favorite blanket and pillow to the couch as well. Then, he walks out to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of water and a ginger ale from the stash he purchased a few days earlier. Satisfied that he’s got everything Chris had asked for, he returns to the living room.

“Okay, what do you want first?” Darren asks as he sits down next to him, retrieving a prescription bottle, Chris’ toothbrush, and a travel sized tube of toothpaste from his pocket.

“Toothbrush,” Chris requests. Darren passes it over with the toothpaste. “This is weird,” he comments as he brushes his teeth over the trashcan, grimacing at the minty taste. He spits out the extra foam and Darren’s got the bottle of water ready so he can rinse his mouth out.

“Think of it like camping,” Darren tries for a little levity.

“Worst. vacation. ever.” Chris pouts as he hands the toothbrush and toothpaste back to him.

“I know, sweetheart,” Darren sighs.

“Do you think it’ll be this bad every time?” Chris wonders, his voice small.

“God, I hope not. Maybe your body just needs to adjust? Maybe the first time is the worst?” he suggests.

“We’re going to pretend that’s the case,” Chris speaks in hoarse voice. “If you find out differently, don’t tell me, alright?”

“I won’t. Do you want the anti-nausea medicine now?”

“Yes please.”

Darren reads the prescription label on the bottle before he shakes a small pill into the palm of his hand. “It says ‘dissolve under your tongue,’” he directs as he hands it to Chris.

Chris sniffs the pill, wrinkling his nose before he follows Darren’s instructions.

“Oh god why,” Chris shudders as he puts it under his tongue, his face contorting into an expression of disgust.

“What’s wrong?”

“The pill is flavored. I swear it’s vomit flavored. How’s that for irony?” Chris whines.

“They can’t be that cruel, surely?” Darren marvels. He opens the bottle and gives it an experimental whiff. “It smells kinda fruity. Strawberry, maybe?”

“Strawberry kiwi,” Chris corrects. “Because one faux fruit flavor wasn’t bad enough. Where’s that water?”

Darren tosses him the bottle and Chris takes several swigs, gagging a little. Thankfully, he doesn’t throw up this time, but it looks like a pretty close call.

“Please kill me,” Chris moans.

Darren visibly flinches at those words. It’s hard not to have mortality on the brain when his boyfriend is newly diagnosed with cancer. He quickly tries to rearrange his features into a more casual expression but not before Chris notices.

“Shit, I didn’t mean -” Chris starts to apologize.

“Shh, don’t worry about it. I know what you meant.” Darren picks up Chris’ pillow and places it in his lap. “Ready to lay down?” he asks.

“Yes, so exhausted,” Chris mumbles. Darren helps him stretch out until he can settle his head in his lap. Chris fidgets for a second and then winces.

“What’s wrong?”

“This stupid line is in the way,” Chris grumbles, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest his arm. “It pinches.”

Darren bites his lip. He’d forgotten about that for a moment, but seeing it just reminds him all over again. This isn’t like when Chris had food poisoning or the flu. He’s not going to wake up tomorrow as good as new. Darren wonders how long it’ll take him to adjust to their new normal, whatever that may be.

He grabs one of the smaller decorative pillows on the couch in a fit of inspiration, tucking it under Chris’ elbow to keep the line from digging into his side. “Better?” he inquires.

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris replies. “Nap time.”

Darren cards his fingers through his Chris’ hair, earning an appreciative hum. “Sleep well,” he whispers reverently, though it’s not really necessary since Chris is already asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few months, Darren and Chris start to find a rhythm. It’s a horrible, awful routine that Darren can’t wait to be done with, but one that he finds himself acclimatizing to nonetheless.

Chris gets chemo in five day cycles, with a week off between each round. They go to the hospital every other Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for IV infusions. Mondays are tolerable, Wednesdays are not much fun, but Fridays, man, are nothing but pure, unremitting hell. After an entire life of looking forward to Fridays, it surprises Darren how quickly he grows to despise them. It takes the entire weekend after a round of chemo just to get Chris even vaguely resembling a human again.

Darren spends every other weekend in bed with Chris, fetching water, damp washcloths for his forehead, blankets, and medicines. It’s exhausting and lonely and without a doubt the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Friends and family offer to step in, to give Darren a break and a much needed weekend away, but Chris doesn’t want anyone else to see him so weak and sick. Only Darren is up to that particular task. It’s a probably a compliment, a tangible sign of his implicit trust in Darren, but that doesn’t make it suck any less when Chris cries and tells Darren he doesn’t want to do this anymore. Darren doesn’t want it any more than Chris does.

To keep from being swallowed whole by grief, Darren tries to memorize every moment of those magical weeks between rounds of chemo. Chris is still wiped out, but he can usually manage more than lying in bed and vomiting every five minutes. They watch entire seasons of TV shows on Netflix or sometimes if Darren is feeling particularly romantic, he’ll read to Chris. They take bubble baths together, look at happy videos of baby animals on YouTube, and just generally try to enjoy the luxury of one another’s company. It’s not perfect and it’s still hard, the looming threat of the next week’s chemo round never far from either of their minds. Sundays become filled with vague, creeping dread, knowing that the good times are coming to an end.

More than once, Darren wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of Chris quietly weeping. The worst thing is that there are no words of encouragement he can provide that will make life any easier for Chris. It just really sucks and there’s no getting around that fact. All he can do is hold Chris tighter and promise that what he’s going through is temporary and it will be over one day. Darren just hopes and prays that that day is sooner rather than later.

* * *

Darren bumps the door open with his hip, arms straining with bags of groceries. He walks through the laundry room and into the kitchen, dropping the half dozen plastic sacks to counter with a grunt. He quickly pulls out the perishable things to put away: milk, eggs, ice cream, and a few frozen pizzas. Once that's done, he goes digging again until he finds the small paper sack that contains Chris' prescription refills. He grabs a chilled bottled water from the fridge and then heads upstairs in search of Chris.

The house is totally quiet and still. Even Cooper and Brian seem to be napping. Darren misses the clatter of Chris' fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop until late into the night. He misses the way Chris would whistle or hum while he washed dishes or prepared dinner. He misses the high pitched voice Chris would affect when talking to Cooper or Brian like they are newborn babies, not animals. There's _so much_ he misses about their life before and he's come to resent the silence that has replaced the sounds of their happy, domestic bliss together.

With a heavy sigh and even heavier heart, Darren climbs the stairs to Chris' bedroom. It's just after 6 PM which means he's got to coax Chris into eating something and swallowing down the cornucopia of medications that he just retrieved from the pharmacy. He used to keep them carefully lined up along the vanity in the bathroom, organized by when they needed to be taken, until Chris had begged him to remove them from his sight, tired of the near constant reminder of his illness. Darren obliged, though it's not like either of them could ever forget his cancer, no matter how much Darren wishes they could.

“Chris?” Darren calls softly as he steps over the threshold into the bedroom. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the near darkness, with only the pale silvers of waning light from beneath the window blinds to guide his way. The sheets and blankets are rumpled but Chris is nowhere to be found. Darren frowns.

He hears a muffled cough from the bathroom and walks to the closed door. “Hey Chris?” he tries again, turning the handle. It's locked.

“Go away,” comes Chris' wrecked voice from the other side.

“Why? What's wrong?” Darren asks, immediately on edge.

“Just – _please_ – I need some time alone,” Chris sniffles. Darren's torn between a desire to tear down the door so he can see what's wrong and an equally strong desire to give Chris the space he's asking for.

“Are you okay? You're scaring me,” Darren admits, pressing a hand against the cool wood of the door. His mind races as he tries to imagine all the possible scenarios for Chris locking himself in the bathroom. None of them are particularly reassuring.

“No, I'm – not, but I can't – I'm not ready – not yet,” Chris sobs out.

Darren scrubs a hand over his face, stomach clenching with worry. “But physically, you're okay? You're not sick or in pain?” he needs to know.

“No, I just – need – a break, _please_ ,” Chris' voice is anguished and pleading. Darren will do anything to keep him from ever having to sound that upset again.

“Okay, okay, I'll be here when you're ready to talk,” Darren acquiesces. He still feels uneasy and he's not willing to stray far, so he flicks on a bedside lamp and sits on the edge of the bed. That's when he first sees it: a clump of hair lying on Chris' pillow.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, his heart breaking all the more. Up until now, Chris had been lucky enough to avoid that particularly awful side effect of chemotherapy. With each passing round that Chris kept his hair, they were lulled more and more into a false sense of security. So, he can only imagine what a shock it must have been for Chris when he woke up from his nap and realized that he wasn't going to be as lucky as he hoped, that he was going to lose his hair after all. Darren feels like someone has punched all the air out of his lungs at the thought of Chris going through that alone. Rationally, Darren knows it's not his fault, but he hates that he picked the absolute worst time to leave nonetheless.

It's almost physically painful to Darren, knowing that Chris is just on the other side of the door, upset and crying. He wants to _do_ something. He wants to hug Chris and kiss every inch of his body and tell him how beautiful and amazing and wanted he is, with hair or without it. Darren wants to respect Chris, to give him the space and time he needs to be ready, but _god_ , it's hard for him. He just hopes he won't have to wait much longer.

To distract himself, he pulls the prescriptions out of the bag one at time, checking the dosages and medication names to be sure he got everything he was supposed to. He unlocks his phone and adds an alert to his calendar to remind him to call in the refills in about 3.5 weeks. Then, he scoops up the hair still sitting on Chris' pillow and tosses it into the empty pharmacy bag. The last thing Chris needs is another reminder of what's happening to him and of what he's lost.

Darren's gaze shifts back to the bathroom door at the sound of water running. He waits, hoping that Chris is just splashing some cold water on his face before he lets Darren in. About a minute later, he hears Chris call out his name in tremulous voice.

Darren jumps to his feet, standing at the door. “Hey, I'm here, Chris.”

“I'm going to come out now, but um – I need...” Chris trails off.

“Whatever you need,” Darren promises. “It's okay.”

Chris sniffles again and then Darren hears the sound of the door being unlocked. Chris opens the door tentatively, his eyes looking at the ground instead of up at Darren.

Even with the knowledge that Chris' hair has started to fall out, Darren is still unprepared for the sight of Chris' completely bald, smooth head. He quickly schools his expression into one of love and adoration, not wanting Chris to see any signs of the shock he feels. He wants Chris to feel beautiful, and he really _is_ , his features standing out in even more sharp relief without the towering hair to distract from them. Darren's never seen his eyes look this blue, this electric.

Chris bites his lips as he finally chances a glance at Darren's face. He looks so vulnerable and open and scared that Darren's closing the space between them before Chris can even draw a shaky breath.

“You,” Darren begins, kissing his forehead, “look,” a kiss to his right cheek, “so gorgeous,” and then to his left cheek. “How,” he continues, planting an slightly off center kiss to Chris' lips, “do you,” kissing each of his eyelids in turn, tasting the salt leftover from Chris' tears, “keep taking my breath away?”

“I…” Chris can’t seem to find the words beyond that.

Darren pulls back so he can see Chris more easily, stomach lurching as he sees the fresh tears on his cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asks gently

“No – yes? I don't know,” Chris weeps. “I _just_ \- I didn't want to wake up every morning to a pile of hair on my pillow. I wanted to get it over and done with, I guess?” He exhales slowly, shoulders slumping as he falls back into Darren's arms.

“I used your razor,” he confesses. “Sorry.”

“Dude, my razor should have been honored to touch magical Colfer hair,” Darren soothes. Chris sighs and lets his head drop to Darren's shoulder. Darren reaches up experimentally, stroking a hand over Chris' head. “It's so soft,” he marvels.

“Also cold,” Chris chokes out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I never realized how much insulation my hair provided until it was gone. I think my ears are still in shock.”

Darren chuckles. “I'll buy you some ear muffs. Wouldn't want your ears to die of frostbite, after all.”

“My hero,” Chris whispers. “Just so you know, I'm totally confiscating your hat collection.”

“What's mine is yours,” Darren agrees easily. “Except for my favorite hat, you can't have that one.”

“You mean the hat that I gave you?” Chris scoffs. “That's not very generous of you.”

“It literally says 'and Chris Colfer is my favorite' on the back of it. Wouldn't that be kind of narcissistic of you?” Darren banters back.

“No, it's just a clever disguise. They'd never suspect it was me that way,” Chris explains.

“Fine, I guess I can be talked into parting with it so that you can play secret agent,” Darren huffs in mock exasperation. “The things I do for you, I swear...”

Chris sits up so suddenly, he leaves Darren flailing at the air. He looks up at Darren through watery eyes. “Chris, I was kidding,” he murmurs, feeling like he punctured their pseudo-normal bubble.

“I'm not. You do so much and I don't thank you very often, but I am so, so _thankful_ for you, Darren,” he manages, his voice thick.

Darren's at a loss for how to respond, because he's not doing it for gratitude from Chris. He's not even expecting some great karmic gift in his future. He's there for Chris because he simply doesn't know how _not_ to be. It's hard and frustrating and exhausting, but it's Chris and he's worth it. He'd do practically anything to make Chris laugh or smile again, to hold him at the end of a long day and promise that they'll be okay.

“You're welcome,” he says at last, his eyes welling up. He leans forward and captures Chris' lips in a gentle kiss. He sighs against Chris' mouth as he pulls away. Darren cups Chris' cheek and wipes away the fresh tears with the pad of his thumb.

“You know what I want?” Chris says, his voice low and fond.

“Hmm?”

“I want a new hat. Sort of like the ones I made for the cast and crew,” Chris tells him.

“I was joking before, you can totally wear mine. I'll even wash it for you first because I wear it to work out and it's probably pretty rank by now,” Darren rambles.

“No, I don't want yours. I want my own, with one major difference,” Chris insists.

“Let me guess, black isn't your color? You'd rather fuchsia? Plum? Cerulean?” Darren tries to predict.

“No, black is good. It'll be slimming... for my head,” Chris adds. He shakes his head slightly. “I'm getting off track. On the back, I want mine to say 'Darren Criss is my favorite' because well, you are.”

“Chris,” Darren's voice is hushed and reverent, “you've got it.” He leans in to place another slightly off-center peck to his lips.

Chris walks over to the bed, flopping down on his pillow. “Oh, that feels weird without hair,” he comments as he rubs his head against the pillowcase.

“We should get some satin sheets or satin pillowcases, possibly both,” Darren suggests.

“Ew, no,” Chris makes a face. “Then it'll look like we're filming a cheap porno in here.”

“Uh, since when is that a bad thing?” Darren teases. “They don't have to be bright red satin or anything, it can be something slightly more... subdued.”

Darren glances over at Chris when he doesn't reply. He's stroking his head, a bewildered expression on his face. “Everything okay over there?” he nudges.

“Do you think I'd look weird with a wig? They make really good ones these days,” Chris wonders.

“I think you'd look amazing, with a wig or without one. But if you get a wig, I insist you go ginger,” Darren jokes.

“Oh god why? I already have the pale skin and freckles, there's no need to go full little orphan Annie,” Chris laughs.

“I was picturing a slightly more Weasley twins look. Or Carrot Top if you wanted something a little longer,” Darren explains.

Chris snorts. “You're so ridiculous.” He cranes his neck around Darren, trying to see across to the nightstand.

“What are you looking for?” Darren asks.

“My iPad.”

Darren stands and retrieves it from the armoire. “Here you go, good sir,” he says with a dramatic bow. He plops down next to Chris, looking over his shoulder as he searches wigs on Google.

“They don't sell wigs on Amazon?” Darren inquires. “Man, I'm disappointed in them. I thought you could buy anything there.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe?” Chris types in a new search, surprised when pages of results come up. “Apparently they do. I can even get one with two day shipping with Amazon Prime for all my emergency wig needs. Score.”

Darren laughs and snuggles closer. They pass the rest of the night in bed together, giggling over increasingly ridiculous wigs, trying to picture Chris wearing them. They don't order any of them, but there's no need because Darren's already accomplished his mission for the night: making Chris laugh again.

* * *

Darren stirs at the sound of the bathroom door creaking. “Hey,” he whispers, rolling to face Chris as he crawls back into bed. “What time is it?”

“Late or early, I guess, depending on your point of view,” Chris sighs.

“Can’t sleep?” Darren asks.

“No. What else is new?” Chris’s voice belies his frustration.

“I’m sorry. You should take something,” Darren suggests.

“Just took an Ambien. Hence the late night trip to the bathroom,” Chris explains.

“Good plan.” Darren scoots a little closer so he can slide his hand under Chris’ shirt and rub his back. Chris gives a hum of contentment and leans into the touch appreciatively.

“So, I was thinking earlier today...” Darren introduces.

“Hmm?”

“You know what we really need right now?”

“A genie with a lamp and three wishes?” Chris guesses.

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, although I wouldn’t turn it down either.”

“What would you wish for?” Chris inquires, his face suddenly serious.

“Right now?” Darren deliberates for a second, though he doesn’t really need to. He knows exactly what he wants. “First, I’d wish for you to be physically healthy. Second, I’d want you to happy again. And third, hmm…”

“Let me guess: you’d wish for an infinite number of additional wishes?” Chris smiles.

“Nah, that’s cheating. I guess for my last wish, I’d want to do something altruistic. Maybe I’d wish for world peace or something like that?” Darren decides.

“All your wishes were altruistic, silly,” Chris points out. “You didn’t wish for anything for yourself.”

“No, the first two wishes are totally selfish on my part. You being healthy and happy is something I need just as much you do, after all.”

Chris’ eyes widen and he gazes at Darren for a long moment, stroking his cheek. “I love you,” he says so softly and sweetly that Darren can’t help but lean forward for a kiss.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, nuzzling Chris’ cheek.

Chris blinks sleepily. Darren’s glad his medication is finally starting to kick in since he knows Chris could use the rest. He brushes a lock of curling hair off his forehead and is getting ready to encourage him to close his eyes when Chris speaks up again.

“You never told me what you thought we needed,” Chris prompts, yawning a little.

“We can talk tomorrow. You should sleep now,” Darren urges.

“I’ve got a few minutes before I pass out and now I’m curious. Humor me?” Chris requests.

“A vacation. That’s what we really need.”

“Uh, I don’t disagree, but something tells me that’s not happening anytime soon. I’ve sort of got some stuff I have to do here, unfortunately,” Chris laughs.

“No, I know. I didn’t mean now. When you are finished with chemo, maybe? It would just be nice to have something positive to look forward to for a change,” Darren points out.

“Yeah, I guess so. Where would you want to go?” he asks Darren.

“No, this is your trip. Totally up to you. The world is your oyster,” Darren announces. He has a good idea what Chris will say already. Over the years, Paris has become their special spot, their oasis when it feels like everything and everyone is against them. For the past three years, they’ve managed to plan overlapping vacations, scheduling various press junkets and premieres as cover for the real reason they were there.

Paris is the place where Chris and Darren locked themselves away from the outside world for a full three days, going so far as to turn off their cell phones and stop checking their email. Instead, they lounged around a lavish hotel suite in fluffy, white robes, ordered champagne and room service, and caught up on a year’s worth of new movies over pay-per-view. They even paid an exorbitant fee to get a room with an ultra-private balcony and a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower.

They spent their first night together on that balcony, drinking delicious wine as they watched the sun go down. As the stars came out and the lights of Paris sparkled below them, they had slow, languid sex in a chair, the wind at their backs. Darren can’t think of a time he’s ever felt happier or more at peace. Things are a lot more complicated these days, but he hopes that looking forward to that same Paris magic might help Chris survive the interminable weeks ahead.

“I mean, I know I should probably suggest somewhere new. Somewhere we’ve always wanted to explore. Maybe a new continent I can cross off my bucket list?” Chris begins. “But if it’s just what I want most, the vacation I would look forward to the most, well, that’s a pretty easy answer. I’d vote for Paris,” he admits.

“I thought you might say that,” Darren beams. “Paris sounds perfect. As soon as you finish chemo, I’m booking the tickets, okay? My treat.”

“No matter what happens, we’ll always have Paris, right?” Chris asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“Chris,” Darren’s voice is hushed. “You’re going. _We’re_ going. You will get there, I promise.”

“I hope so,” Chris whispers, his eyes starting to fall shut. “Sleepy now.”

Darren kisses his forehead, watching Chris’ body go lax as the sleeping pill kicks in. He would like to join him, a bone weary exhaustion settling over Darren from the months of caregiving and constantly being on edge and on call to attend to Chris’ needs, day or night. But even though his body needs rest, his mind won’t cooperate.  _“We’ll always have Paris,”_  are the words that echo through his brain all night, not letting Darren rest until the sun is already starting to rise. Even when he does fall into a restless, fitful sleep, those same words haunt Darren’s nightmares.

* * *

It’s a week or two later when Chris does something that Darren really isn't expecting. He gets home from talking Cooper for a walk and quietly pads upstairs to Chris’ bedroom. Chris had been half watching some terrible Real Housewives reality show and half dozing in bed when Darren had left him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and promising to return soon. But when he walks back into the bedroom, Chris is propped up in bed, wide awake and engrossed in something on his iPad.

“Hey, I thought you’d be asleep by now,” Darren greets him.

“No, I was waiting for you,” Chris replies, patting the bed in invitation. “Come here?”

Darren flops down on his stomach. “You rang?”

“I missed you,” Chris says against his cheek, a quick puff of hot air that makes Darren shiver.

“I wasn’t gone that long, was I?” Darren’s confused.

“I mean more in a general sense: I _miss_ you,” Chris says again, gaze raking over Darren’s body before it falls to his lips, pupils dilated with lust.

“Oh,” Darren breathes. He’s starting to get the idea now. He’s barely done more than kiss or cuddle Chris in weeks, though not for lack of desire. He’d just assumed, perhaps naively, that Chris wouldn’t have the strength or interest in anything more than that. It’s hard to know what the boundaries are when there are so many things that Chris just… refuses to talk about.

Darren looks over at Chris, seeing the fear of rejection hiding in those impossibly wide eyes, and that just won’t do. He intends to show Chris just how much he wants. And _god_ , does he ever want. He wants everything with Chris. He always has and probably always will.

Darren crawls closer until he’s hovering over Chris, giving one final look to make sure that there’s no hesitance. He sees nothing but desire and unmistakable need on Chris’ face. That’s the only sign he needs to close the gap, curling his fingers along Chris’ jaw as he kisses him leisurely at first, then deeper and with more intent. Chris melts into it, humming happily against his lips.

Chris' body is warm and pliant underneath him. Darren kisses him feverishly, trailing hot nips and sucks along the hinge of the jaw, paying special attention to the spot behind Chris' ear that he knows drives him wild.

Chris is responding eagerly to his advances for the first time in what feels like months. Still, it's a shock when Chris starts to trail his hand down Darren's chest and belly, reaching for him.

Darren pulls back. “Chris, you don't have to -”

“Please,” Chris interrupts. “ _Please_ , I just... need to feel something besides sick for a change. Let me?”

“Are you sure you're up to it?” Darren asks, knowing how wiped out he tends to be for days after chemo.

“I'm positive.”

“Okay,” Darren sighs. He forces his body to relax and begins kissing Chris' neck with renewed vigor. He slides his hand down and begins to thumb at Chris' nipples through the thin cotton of his undershirt. Darren moans into his mouth as Chris cups him through his boxer briefs. It's been so long and Darren knows he'll only last a short while. But he thinks that's okay, because this isn't about slow, languid pleasure. It's meant to be desperate and needy and so hot it feels like it might scorch them both. It's intimacy, connecting and becoming one.

Darren can feel how fragile Chris is beneath his hands, how the lightest touches or caresses can mark his skin for days. But every single time Darren loosens his grip, Chris is there to correct it, pressing Darren's fingers into his flesh until he can practically see the bruises erupting on his skin. “Harder,” he whispers to Darren, face flushed with arousal. “Just hold me tighter.”

“I will, I'm here, I've got you,” Darren repeats over and over, like a mantra. He stretches his arms to the fullest extent, enveloping Chris until there's not an inch of his body that isn't covering him.

* * *

Afterwards, Chris breaks, his orgasm releasing the feelings that he usually keeps hidden, out of sight and carefully tucked away. He doesn't say a word, he just buries his face in Darren's neck and cries.

Predictably, Darren panics. “Baby, what's wrong? Did I hurt you? Was that too much?”

“No, no, it was exactly what I needed,” Chris sniffles. “I've just missed this so much. I've missed _us_.”

“But I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere?” Darren tries to soothe, a little mystified by Chris' rapid shift in mood.

“I know. It's me that's slipping away,” Chris says flatly.

“Chris, you're going to be fine. You'll get better. You aren't going to... slip away,” Darren swallows hard. He'd almost said 'die' instead. But even saying 'slip away' had felt like poison on his tongue.

“I don't mean physically. But mentally, I can feel myself pulling back. Not just from you, but from everyone, even my own parents. I'm aware that I'm doing it, but I can't seem to _stop_. Every day it feels like the wall that separates me from everyone else just gets taller and taller,” Chris murmurs.

Darren can feel that wall too. It's been the most frustrating part of this whole experience. He can't even begin to imagine what Chris is going through, but he _desperately_ wants to. Yet it feels like no matter how tight he holds onto him, Chris just gets further and further away. All Darren wants is to fix it, and that's the one thing he can't do.

“Then lower the drawbridge and let me in,” Darren manages, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“I'm trying,” Chris whispers. “I really am.”

“I know,” Darren says. “I know.”

They're both quiet for a few minutes. Darren's eyes widen in recognition as he finally understands. “Is that why you wanted to have sex tonight?”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, Chris adds, “I just wanted to be able to connect with you, even if I couldn't do it with words. It felt like a safe place to start.”

“Did it help?”

“I think so,” Chris exhales. “It might be a bandaid over a bullet hole, but it's  _something_. I'll have to keep working on the words part.”

“I'll be here when you're finally ready to talk. And I'll scale that wall if need be,” Darren promises.

“Swear you won't give up on me?” Chris requests with a shaky voice. “Don't stop trying.”

Darren pulls Chris to his chest and places a kiss on his forehead. “Never. I'll never give up. It's you and me to the end of the line, okay?”

“Thank you,” Chris sobs. “I really needed to hear that.”

* * *

Somewhere around the eighth round of chemo, Chris starts to rebound.

He gets enough strength back to sit at his computer for an hour or two at a time to write. He starts to smile more and sleep less. He's even awake when Darren gets home in the evenings instead of zonked out on the couch or in bed like Darren had grown accustomed to.

One night, Chris asks to watch a movie. In the end, they decide on the second Captain America movie because somehow Chris still hasn't seen it and Darren’s only seen it once. Darren brings home takeout from Chris' favorite sushi place in an attempt to convince him to eat more than a few bites of something. He's almost painfully thin these days. Darren hates the hollow look in Chris' eyes and how fragile he appears, now completely swamped in Darren's previously snug hoodie.

They curl up on the couch together to watch The Winter Soldier and over the course of the two hour movie, Darren coaxes Chris into eating an entire tuna roll. It's not nearly enough calories to begin to make up for the amount of weight Chris has lost, but it's still more than Darren has seen him eat in weeks.

Chris also manages to stay awake for the entire movie and Darren can't even remember the last time that'd happened. These days, he's lucky if Chris can stay awake for a twenty-two minute sitcom. It feels like a date, one that Darren would've classified as typical, mundane night in for the two of them a year ago. It's a little thing, but to Darren it's huge. It feels... _normal_. And god, Darren would give anything for their life to go back to normal, boring even. It's more than he'd dared to hope for a month ago.

He's never been so relieved to see signs of _his_ Chris coming back. It feels like maybe, finally, things are starting to look up. And then, in the blink of an eye, they're not.

* * *

Darren wakes to the sound of Chris moaning softly.

“Chris?” he calls out in the darkness. He shivers involuntarily at the heartbreaking whimpering noise that he receives in reply. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

Darren sits up and turns on the lamp so he can see Chris. He's curled in the fetal position at the far end of bed, clutching his chest. His face is tear stained and tensed in agony. He looks simply _awful_. Darren's never jumped across the bed faster.

“Baby, what's wrong?”

“Can't – breathe,” Chris gasps out with difficulty. “Chest – hurts.”

Darren's been thoroughly briefed by Chris' oncologist about what to watch out for during chemotherapy. Secondary infections are the biggest concern and he's been told they tend to increase in likelihood with each passing round, since chemo doesn't just wipe out cancer cells, but healthy immune cells as well. Chris is months into his treatment now, when a simple cold can prove deadly because his exhausted body just doesn't have the strength to fight it off anymore. Darren takes a steadying breath and mentally runs through his checklist. He needs to figure out if Chris is running a fever first, since anything over 101 degrees equals an immediate trip to the ER for blood work and IV antibiotics.                                                       

When he touches Chris' forehead, he flinches at the almost scalding heat. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Chris, you're running a fever. I think we're going to have to take you to the hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods desperately. The fact that Chris isn't fighting him on it might be the thing that scares Darren most of all.

“Would it help to sit up?” Darren wonders aloud, watching Chris' chest heave up and down as he struggles to breathe.

“Maybe?” Chris pants.

Darren grabs for extra pillows, piling three against the headboard near Chris. Then he reaches for him, putting an arm under each armpit so he can haul Chris into a semi-upright position with the pillows supporting his upper body. Chris groans at the movement.

“Any better?” Darren bites his lip as he watches a few tears track down Chris' cheeks. He wipes them away with his hand and tries not to panic.

“Don't – know.” Chris digs the heel of his hand into his sternum and cringes in pain. “Darren, hurts,” he whimpers.

“I know, sweetheart. We're going to get you some help soon,” Darren swears. “I need to go get the thermometer so I can take your temperature and then call Dr. Milligan, okay?”

Chris shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No, don't leave,” he begs.

“I'll only be gone for a second. I'll be right back. Just hang on.” Darren kisses Chris' burning forehead and hops up, practically sprinting to the bathroom in search of the thermometer.

He finds it in the medicine cabinet almost immediately and picks it up so he can rush back to Chris. By the time he returns, Chris' eyes are shut again and tears are streaming down his cheeks. Darren gingerly perches on the side of the bed next to him, cupping his cheek and directing him to open his mouth so he can take his temperature.

This time, Darren can't even bring himself to watch the numbers trend upwards. He knows Chris has a fever and the only real question is how high it is. Despite that, it still comes as a shock when Darren hears the beep and looks at the digital display.  _103.8._

“Holy shit,” Darren swears under his breath, fear mounting. He picks up his cell phone with shaking fingers, scrolling through his contacts until he finds the right number.

“Answering service,” a perky voice says once the call connects.

“Hi, I'm calling on behalf of my boyfriend, Chris Colfer. He's a patient of Dr. Milligan's.”

“Okay, so what seems to be the problem tonight?”

“He woke up just a few minutes ago saying his chest hurt. He's having a lot of trouble breathing and his fever is 103.8,” Darren explains.

“I see,” the woman says sympathetically. “Give me one second to connect you with Dr. Milligan.”

“Thank you,” Darren murmurs gratefully, waiting in silence for a few minutes until she reaches Chris' oncologist. While he waits, he grabs Chris' hand and squeezes it, hating how powerless he is to do anything more to help.

“Hello?” a man's voice says eventually.

“Hi, Dr. Milligan? This is Darren, I'm Chris Colfer's boyfriend,” he begins.

“Yes, Cindy was saying something about him running a high fever? When did that start?”

“I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. He seemed okay when we went to bed, but now he's burning up and struggling to breathe,” Darren worries aloud.

“What was his temperature?”

“103.8 when I took it about five minutes ago.”

Darren hears Dr. Milligan suck in a sharp breath and his own stomach lurches in tandem. “It sounds like he's got a serious infection, possibly pneumonia. You need to bring him to the ER now so he can be admitted. He's going to need IV antibiotics, I suspect.”

“Okay,” Darren breathes, worried but unsurprised. “Should I call an ambulance or drive him there myself?”

“That all depends on whether or not you can get him to the car safely. If you don't think you can move him, call an ambulance. Otherwise, you driving him there should be fine.”

“I can carry him to the car. That won't be a problem.”

“Alright, you should do that now then. I'll call ahead to the ER to let them know that you're coming and that Chris will need to be admitted to my service. That way they'll be prepared for you and Chris won't have to wait to be seen.”

“Thank you,” Darren speaks gratefully.

“You're welcome, Darren. “I'll be by in the morning to round on Chris and see how he's doing. We're going to take excellent care of him. Any other questions?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Okay then, take care.”

Darren hangs up the phone, heart hammering in his chest. He's got to get Chris to the hospital and quick.

“Chris,” he nudges gently, stroking his cheek, “can you look at me for a second?”

Chris lets out a soft noise of distress as he forces his eyes open. Darren watches his nostrils flare as he struggles to get enough air into his lungs.

“Dr. Milligan says we need to take you to the ER right now. I've got to go unlock the garage door but then I'm going to come back and carry you out to the car, okay? I'll only be gone for a minute, I promise,” he vows to Chris.

“Please,” Chris keens frantically. Darren isn't sure if he's begging him to stay or to leave now so they can get to the hospital faster. He sounds every bit as conflicted as Darren feels.

“Just keep breathing, okay? Nice and slow,” he urges. Chris' eyes fall shut and tears leak out in a steady stream. It’s hard to tell for certain in the dim light of the bedroom, but Darren swears he can see the slightly blueish tint starting to color Chris’ lips. It spurs him forward as he jumps to his feet and hurries out of the bedroom and downstairs towards the garage after one final backwards glance at Chris.

* * *

By the time Darren gets back, Chris has slid down the pillows again, nearly falling off the side of the bed because he’s too weak to hold himself up. It seems to take him far too long to respond to Darren tapping his cheek and calling his name, and even then all he can manage is a muted whimper. Darren decides not to waste any more time and slides an arm under Chris’ knees and the other around his back as he gathers him into his arms. He’s struck by just how easy it is to lift him. Chris doesn’t weigh enough. He feels feather light in Darren’s arms.

Darren babbles a steady stream of encouragements as he carries Chris down the stairs and out to the garage. He doesn’t know if his words are even registering any longer, but he can feel Chris’ labored breathing against his chest as he holds him tighter. It’s not nearly as reassuring as Darren needs it to be.

Chris’ head lolls to the side as Darren gently sets him down in the passenger seat of his car. Darren panics for a moment, thinking Chris has passed out or worse. But when he runs a hand across Chris’ burning cheek, his eyes flutter open. He stares with a look so agonized and scared that Darren finds himself shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature outside.

“It’s going to be okay, Chris,” he tries to reassure, even as tears start to roll down Darren’s cheeks. “We’re going to get to the hospital soon. Just hang on, honey. Please, for me, hang on.”

* * *

Darren breaks every traffic law imaginable during the twenty minute drive to the hospital. By the time he pulls to a screeching halt underneath the awning marked ‘Emergency Room,’ Chris is no longer responding. Every time Darren looks back at him, it spreads ice through his veins. He jumps out and calls for help, grateful when someone runs over with a wheelchair and assists him in getting Chris out of the car and into it. Chris lets out a soft gasp as they enter the ER and the freezing cold air conditioning hits him like a wave. The relief that washes over Darren at the sound is so immense that it leaves him breathless.

Chris flails a little in the wheelchair as he scans the room and doesn’t immediately see Darren, since he’s behind him pushing the chair. “I’m here, baby,” he soothes and puts his hand on Chris’ shoulder.

A nurse at the triage desk takes one look at the two of them as they burst into the room and is on her feet and opening the locked door that leads to the treatment rooms.

“You’re Chris, right?” she asks and Darren replies for both of them.

They’re led to a room where there are two nurses already on standby. A second later, the door flies open and a doctor strides into the room and begins calling out orders and Darren just… can’t keep up anymore.

He sinks onto a stool that someone rolls over to Chris’ bedside, no longer trying to fight the tears as they fall. He takes Chris’ hand, only letting go long enough for the staff to strip Chris out of his pajamas and attach him to monitors to track his oxygen levels, blood pressure, and heart rate and rhythm. From the hushed, worried tones and the way medical staff in scrubs continue to rush in and out of the room at an alarming clip, Darren works out that Chris’ vital signs are not what they should be. He feels like he’s somehow ended up in a bad episode of Grey’s Anatomy, only this is his life now. This is Chris’ life and Darren’s terrified that this episode won’t have a happy ending.

* * *

It takes six interminable hours for Chris to be stabilized enough that someone has the time to explain to Darren exactly what’s happening and why. Much like Dr. Milligan suspected, Chris has pneumonia in both lungs. They are still struggling to get his fever under 103 despite numerous doses of Tylenol and IV antibiotics. They draw vial after vial of blood, hoping to figure out what specific type of bacteria has made him so sick so quickly so they can better target it with the right medications. It turns out that Chris’ hemoglobin and platelet levels are dangerously low as well, so he gets several blood transfusions. At one point, Darren looks over at the IV poles and swears he counts seven different bags of fluids and medications being fed into his veins simultaneously. It’s a horrible reminder of just how ill Chris is and it scares the living crap out of him.

Chris sleeps through the worst of it, only waking every few hours to ask for a sip of water or to tell Darren he’s cold before he slips under again. Darren tries to distract himself by texting Chris’ parents and closest friends to keep them apprised of his condition. He promises to update them regularly even though the doctors and nurses are barely giving him any concrete information to go off of at this point.

Darren calls his parents during one particularly terrible moment when Chris’ oxygen levels start dropping and he can hear the ICU staff debating the relative merits of intubating Chris to give his lungs a break. He sobs in a way he hasn’t since he was a kid, four and a half months worth of pent up terror, anxiety, and frustration rushing out of him all at once. His mom is the soothing voice of reason he needs, keeping him as calm as possible while she asks the right questions to ascertain exactly how serious things are. When she offers to hop on a plane to keep Darren company while he sits vigil at Chris’ bedside, he breaks all over again.

He’s a 28 year old man, sure, but he’s also lost and scared and he _really_ wants his mom. Darren just needs someone to tell him that everything is going to be okay. More specifically, he needs someone to promise him that Chris will be okay, because that’s the only way Darren can make it through.


	3. Chapter 3

Darren doesn’t get any easy reprieve from his anxiety this time. It takes five full days before the antibiotics kick in enough that Dr. Milligan can declare that he’s “cautiously optimistic” about Chris’ recovery prospects. By that time, Darren is a sleep deprived maniac, driven half insane with worry and too many sleepless nights. The only thing that keeps him from total collapse is the visit that his parents insisted on making.

The first thing his mom does when she sees him is to comment on how much weight Darren’s lost. The ridiculous thing is that he’s been so focused on trying to get Chris to eat that he hadn’t even noticed. From that point on, Chris’ mom and his mom team up for Operation Fatten Our Children Up. They never show up at the hospital empty handed, bringing coffee, muffins, takeout from a Thai food restaurant around the corner, and even pizza at all hours of the day and night. Darren’s not really hungry and anything he tries to eat tastes like cardboard, but he humors them by choking down as much food as he can tolerate without getting sick.

At least once, Darren suspects that his mom actually drugs his drink to get him to sleep. He drinks a hot chocolate one evening that has a suspiciously bitter aftertaste. Thirty minutes later, Darren’s yawning constantly even though it’s barely 9 PM and the next thing he knows, he’s waking up at 6 AM when the nurses do their morning rounds, his neck aching from having fallen asleep in a chair with his head resting on Chris’ bed next to their intertwined hands. He’s not sure if he should be mad or thankful that his parents care enough to spike his beverage. Possibly both.

Darren’s grateful for the sleep ultimately, because it ends up being the first day in nearly a week that Chris is coherent enough to carry on an actual conversation. Strange though it is, he’s found himself missing Chris like crazy all week. Sure, he never leaves Chris’ side for longer than it takes to use the bathroom or change clothes and splash water on his face, but they aren’t connecting. Even when Chris wakes up briefly, he's not  _really_ there.

At least, that was true until Friday.

The irony isn’t lost on Darren that it’s a Friday, up until now one of his most dreaded days, that ends up being the day that Chris’ opens his eyes and looks up at Darren, really looks _at_ him rather than _through_ him with a soft smile.

“Hi,” Darren breathes, heart leaping with hope.

“Hey,” Chris replies, his voice so soft that it’s barely audible. It hardly matters since Darren’s face is mere inches away from his the second he opens his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Chris tells him and Darren is so relieved he can barely keep the grin from splitting his face in two.

“I’m glad,” Darren says, hearing the smile in his own voice. “God Chris, you had us so worried.”

“Us?” Chris cocks his head to the side, looking confused.

“Me, your parents, my parents, and everyone from work, for starters,” Darren lists off.

“Our parents are here?” Chris asks, eyes scanning the room as if he expects them to pop out from behind the curtain at any second.

“Yeah. Well, not _here_ , exactly, because they are at the Hyatt down the street getting some rest. They’ll probably get to the hospital around lunchtime,” Darren explains.

“What day is today?” Chris frowns.

“Friday.”

“Friday? So I’ve been here for…”

“...almost six days,” Darren fills in. “You’ve been pretty out of it.”

“No kidding,” Chris marvels. He looks deep in thought for a long moment and then his expression turns grave.

“What’s wrong?” Darren worries.

“Am I dying?” Chris blurts out.

“What? No, _god_ no, Chris. You were really sick for a while there, but you’re going to be fine now,” Darren soothes. It’s the first time he’s actually believes what he’s saying.

“You wouldn’t lie to me?” Chris prods, still looking uneasy.

“Never.”

Chris shoots Darren a disbelieving look that has him bursting into a slightly hysterical fit of laughter. He couldn't have imagined that being sassed by Chris could ever feel so good.

“Okay fine, I guess _never_ is too strong a word. But I wouldn’t lie to you about something as serious as your health. How’s that?” Darren corrects.

Chris studies his face, looking for any signs that Darren doesn’t mean what he’s saying. Finally, he nods, seeming satisfied. “Okay.”

Darren brings their intertwined hands to his lips, kissing across Chris’ knuckles. “You don’t know how good it is to be having a real conversation with you.”

Chris squeezes his hand. “You look exhausted. I take it you haven’t been getting much rest? Even though I was playing Sleeping Beauty and you could’ve gone home to sleep without me ever noticing.”

“No, I wasn’t going to leave you, not when things were so…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“It was really _that_ bad?” Chris bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It was touch and go for a few days, and you have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Darren promises. “You being okay is all I need.”

“So that’s a no on the sleep then, hmm?” Chris nudges.

“Well, not exactly. I hadn’t done much sleeping until last night, but I’m pretty sure my mom drugged my drink with Tylenol PM or chloroform or something. One second I was drinking hot chocolate, and the next I was waking up at 6 AM,” Darren chuckles.

“Wow,” Chris’ eyes go wide. He looks strangely impressed. “Your mom doesn’t screw around. That’s downright devious of her.”

“I learned all my dirty tricks from her, what can I say?”

“I’m glad you got at least a little rest, even if your mom had to commit a felony to make it happen,” Chris tells him. “Remind me to get her a really extravagant Christmas gift this year. And one for you too, while we’re making imaginary lists.”

“You don’t have to get me a thing. Just get better. That would be the greatest Christmas gift I could ever receive,” Darren speaks reverently.

“I’m working on it,” Chris sighs. “At least I think I am. Sometimes my body doesn’t fill me in on these decisions.”

“How rude,” Darren pouts. “You get no respect.”

“I’d bring it up at the next organ council meeting, but I think I’ll probably crash again instead,” Chris yawns. “Not sure how I’m still tired after sleeping for nearly six days, yet here we are.”

“You’ve been put through the ringer. It takes a lot of energy to fight off such a nasty infection.”

“Yeah maybe,” Chris hums. “What exactly is wrong with me, by the way?”

“Double pneumonia,” Darren reports.

“Double pneumonia? Why, because one pneumonia wasn’t bad enough? Man, my body is _so_ getting a sternly worded email,” Chris huffs.

“I think it’s just a slightly fancier way of saying pneumonia in both lungs?” Darren shrugs. “Double pneumonia sounds cooler though.”

“Worst band name ever,” Chris mumbles as his eyes slide closed again.

Darren lets out a squeaky, wet laugh. “I’ll make us t-shirts.”

Chris shifts and pulls Darren’s hand until it’s resting over the center of chest. “When are we going to Paris again? I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?”

“Couldn’t agree more. If you could tell your body to cooperate so we can get those tickets booked, I wouldn’t complain one bit,” Darren says as he bends to kiss Chris’ forehead.

“Deal.”

Darren sits in silent reverie, assuming Chris has already fallen asleep, so he’s startled when he suddenly speaks up again. “Do you think this bed is big enough for two people?”

“Uh,” Darren leans forward, eyeing the space on either side of Chris next to the bed railings. “Depends on the people. Why, were you planning on hosting a sleepover tonight?”

“Possibly,” Chris grins. “I seem to remember one of the nurses being pretty hot.”

“Your nurses are all at least fifty years old and women,” Darren insists.

“You’re such a liar,” Chris teases. “You’re lucky that I love and tolerate you.”

“I really am,” Darren agrees, eyes welling with gratitude. 

“I was going to see if you’d be amenable to some light cuddling, but if you are going to go all gooey romantic on me, I might change my mind,” Chris gently teases.

“I’m always down to cuddle.”

“Pretty sure the expression is down to fuck, hon,” Chris corrects.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Darren maintains. He crawls into bed next to Chris, taking care to avoid disturbing the various tubes and wires connected to him as he wraps him in his arms. It’s the most peaceful, dreamless sleep he’s gotten in ages.

* * *

“Hello again,” Dr. Milligan greets Chris and Darren during morning rounds four days later. He picks up Chris’ chart and rifles through it, seeming pleased with the test results he finds there. “So, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he announces. “Which do you want first?”

“Good,” Darren says at almost the exact same moment that Chris responds “bad.”

Dr. Milligan laughs. “Well, I guess they always say opposites attract.”

“Someone has to be the pessimist in this relationship,” Chris banters back. “Unfortunately I drew the short straw.”

“I don’t even think it _was_ the short straw,” Darren rolls his eyes. “It just looked short to you because hello, eternal pessimist, of course you’d see the glass half empty instead of half full, metaphorically speaking.”

“Well, I always prefer giving good news to bad, so I guess I’ll start there,” Dr. Milligan continues. “I think if you continue to improve at this rate, we should be able to release you to go home in two days. You’ll still need to come to the Oncology floor daily so we can continue to check your platelet levels and give you IV antibiotics, but at least you can sleep in your own bed at night.”

“That is good news. _Really_ good news,” Darren beams.

“What’s the bad news?” Chris worries.

“Before we send you home, I’d like to do a bone marrow biopsy in addition to the PET scan we already talked about. It’ll help me know how well the chemo regimen is targeting the cancer cells,” Dr. Milligan explains patiently.

Darren winces. He’d been hoping that was one invasive test Chris would be lucky enough to avoid. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll put Chris on the schedule as my first case of the day.”

Chris looks nervous. “Is that something I’ll be put to sleep for or…?”

“We’ll sedate you and give you medication for pain. You won’t be completely out, but it’ll make the procedure bearable.”

Darren squeezes Chris’ hand, sensing his growing anxiety. “Can I stay with him while you do it? I think that would help.”

“Typically, we don’t let anyone aside from the patient in the OR, but I guess I could make an exception just this once,” he agrees. “You’d have to wear a gown and mask though.” 

“Of course, I'll do whatever is required,” Darren agrees quickly. “I really appreciate it.”

“Looks like I'll be seeing you both bright and early tomorrow then,” Dr. Milligan nods. “Any other questions before I leave?”

Darren and Chris exchange a look. “I don't think so,” Darren answers for both of them, shaking his head.

“Wonderful. Get some rest if you can manage it in here, Chris,” he recommends. “Though I know that hospitals aren't exactly optimal for getting uninterrupted sleep.”

“No kidding,” Chris sighs dramatically, though there's a twinkle in his eyes that makes it clear that he's joking. Darren can't even remember the last time he'd seen the same spark from Chris. It's such a relief to know that _his_ Chris is coming back, a little more each day.

Chris waves goodbye to his oncologist and then flops back against the pillows, pouting.

“Problem?” Darren inquires.

“I can't decide if I'm more nervous about the bone marrow biopsy or excited about finally getting to go home,” Chris explains. Then he claps a hand over his mouth and looks around nervously.

“What?”

“I probably shouldn't say the H-word out loud. I'm just dooming something else to go wrong if I do, aren't I?” Chris worries.

“The H-word?” Darren laughs. “Honey? Hell? Handstand?”

“Yes, obviously handstand, Darren. Because I'm totally up to acrobatics right now,” Chris rolls his eyes.

Darren winks suggestively. “I mean, I have it on good authority that you're pretty flexible.”

“I hate you,” Chris groans. “I was trying to have a moment here!”

“I'm sorry, baby. It's just that I've been saving up almost five months worth of teasing since you got sick. It was bound to come out eventually,” Darren jokes.

“You can't be tamed any longer, hmm?” Chris laughs despite himself. “Home is the word, obviously. I just don't want to get my hopes up, because then I'll inevitably start running a fever or something and be stuck here another week. I don't think I could take another disappointment right now.”

Darren's face goes serious in a second. “Me either, but I think we are about due for some good news right now, don't you?”

“I hope so,” Chris agrees. “I miss Brian and Cooper.”

“They also miss you very much. According to your parents and Hannah, they've been pretty needy lately,” Darren tells him. “Actually, you know what? I think they texted me some pictures. Want to see?”

Chris eagerly responds yes. They spend the next thirty minutes laughing over the various ridiculous costumes and poses that Chris' sister put his pets in. Cooper is clearly on board with the madcap adventure from the beginning, while Brian sulks in the background, obviously humiliated by the ridiculous outfits Hannah dressed him in. By the time Darren gets to the last picture, his face is starting to hurt from smiling and laughing so much.

The stress of tomorrow's test has been momentarily postponed in favor of connecting with one another and for that, Darren is eternally grateful.

* * *

Chris lies on his side, fidgeting nervously on the procedure table. Darren sits directly beside him, decked out in a thin cotton gown covering his t-shirt and jeans and a paper mask over his mouth. They are waiting impatiently for Dr. Milligan to arrive so they can get the bone marrow biopsy over and done with. It's hopefully the last hoop they have to jump through before Chris can finally be released from the hospital. Unfortunately, the last thing on their agenda _had_ to be something this painful and invasive. Darren's nervous for Chris mainly, but also a little worried that he won't be able to handle seeing Chris in pain.

The door swings opens and they both startle at the noise as Dr. Milligan walks into the room. “Good morning, everyone. Ready to get this show on the road?” he asks.

“I... guess so?” Chris manages. “I'm assuming it's a little late to back out now, huh?”

“I wouldn't have ordered the test unless it was really important,” Dr. Milligan's chuckles softly. “I can understand being nervous about the biopsy, but it'll be over and done with before you know it.”

Chris fixes Darren with a pleading look. It's a testament to how well they work together now after months of practice that Darren can read what Chris needs without the necessity of words. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees so that he's at eye level with Chris. He takes Chris’ hand, tracing patterns into his skin with his thumb. “I'm here,” he reminds Chris. “We're going to get through this together, I promise.” Chris gives a shaky nod in reply.

“Okay Chris, we're going to give you some medicine through your IV to help relax you now before we start the procedure,” Dr. Milligan narrates.

Darren watches him closely, holding his breath while he waits to see how much the medication will help. Chris blinks heavily but continues to hold his hand with everything he has in him.

“Helping a bit?” Darren wants to know.

“A little,” Chris replies in a wobbly voice. Darren had been hoping for a lot more than a little. He just needs this to be over as fast as possible.

“Now we're going to adjust your position slightly for the biopsy,” Dr. Milligan continues to explain. Chris' eyes go wide and his body goes rigid.

“We're not starting just yet,” he tells Chris. “I'll warn you when the time comes, but for now we're just getting everything set up, so try to take some deep breaths and relax for me if you can.”

“Easier said than done,” Chris huffs indignantly. Darren laughs despite himself. Chris doesn't have much of a filter on a good day and it seems like sedatives and painkillers have a tendency to loosen his lips even more. Still, if anyone has earned the right to grumble over doctors telling him to relax while they simultaneously torture him, it's Chris.

Darren watches the nurse help shift Chris into the proper place on the table, tucking a pillow behind his back to keep him in that same spot lying on his side. When she goes to lift the hem of Chris' hospital gown to expose his hip, Darren looks away. He's gotten a stronger stomach over the past few months out of necessity, but he still doesn't have it in him to watch them jab a giant needle into Chris' hipbone. The mere thought makes him cringe and he's not even the one who will feel it. For anyone else, Darren isn't sure he would be able to handle being in the same room. But for Chris? He's willing to try. He just hopes his presence will give Chris some small bit of solace.

Darren cups Chris' cheek. “Sleepy?” he asks.

Chris shakes his head ruefully. “No, I'm too nervous to sleep.” His body jerks suddenly and then he shivers.

“We're just cleaning off the spot with some antibacterial wash,” the nurse warns a bit too late. “Sorry, I know it's cold.”

Chris anxiously taps his fingers against the table and chews on the inside of his bottom lip. “Help?” Chris murmurs, his voice soft enough that only Darren can hear.

“I will,” Darren vows. “Whatever you need, okay?” He stares into Chris’ eyes with a searching gaze, wanting him to feel the sincerity behind his words. Chris swallows hard and grips his hand a little tighter

“Great, I think we're ready to get started now,” Dr. Milligan announces soon after, putting Chris immediately on edge once again. “The first thing we're going to do is numb your hip. The medicine will probably burn a little going in. Ready?”

Chris draws a quaking breath and then nods. Darren can tell the second they start by the way Chris winces and squeezes his hand hard. “Shh, it's okay,” Darren soothes as he strokes his cheek. It feels like an eternity even though it's probably only thirty seconds before Chris finally starts to relax a little bit.

“Still hanging in there?” Darren worries aloud.

Chris can only manage a weak shrug. He exhales slowly and then looks up at Darren, panic radiating off him in waves. “That wasn't even the worst part.”

“But it _is_ one step closer to the finish line,” he reminds Chris. It's only cold comfort but it's all he has at the moment. It doesn't seem to do much good since he can still see Chris' upper body shaking ever so slightly. He runs his free hand up and down Chris' bicep, trying to add some warmth through friction even though he suspects that Chris shaking has little to do with the temperature of the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Darren sees Dr. Milligan adjust Chris on the table one final time and then pick up a huge syringe. The sheer size and length of the needle has Darren recoiling in sympathy. He can't even begin to imagine how badly what comes next will hurt.

“Alright Chris, we're going to go ahead and start now. Your hip should be numb but you'll still feel a lot of pressure. Typically, the only painful part is when we remove the bone marrow, but that should only last a few seconds, okay?”

Chris gives Darren a pleading look as he signals his acknowledgement to Dr. Milligan. Seconds later, Chris' hand is crushing into Darren's as he whimpers. Darren wipes away a few errant tears that spill onto Chris' cheeks as he shuts his eyes. “I know it hurts. Just try to breathe,” he prompts as he realizes he hasn't heard Chris draw a single breath since they started the biopsy. Chris blanches, his face contorting in an expression of pain. “Come on. Breathe, baby. You’ve got to breathe,” Darren urges, a little more strongly this time.

Chris finally inhales sharply, squeezing Darren's hand again. “There you go,” he encourages. “You're doing great. Not much longer,” he promises, hoping what he's saying is true.

“Darren,” Chris moans.

“I'm here,” he reassures. “I've got you.”

“Halfway done,” the nurse updates them in a chipper voice. Darren barely resists the urge to say something nasty or better yet, to throw something at her. He knows she's just doing her job, but she's acting like what Chris is going through is just a fun, relaxing day at the beach when it's nothing but pure hell.

Darren sees Chris shake his head and bends down closer so he can make out what he's saying. “Chris?”

 _“Please,”_ Chris begs. He doesn't say more but Darren has a pretty good idea what he's pleading for: an end to the pain.

Darren doesn't know if he's ever felt more helpless in his life, sitting there and trying to talk Chris' through this horrible ordeal. He presses his forehead to Chris', curling his hand around the strong line of his jaw. “Shh, I know, I know. You're doing so well. Just keep taking slow, deep breaths,” he whispers.

“We have to take the solid sample now and then we'll be all done,” Dr. Milligan says in a much more measured tone.

Darren senses movement out of the corner of his eye and then Chris' whole body jolts and he audibly keens. “Squeeze my hand, Chris,” he directs, trying to do anything he can think of to keep him distracted. Chris squeezes back hard enough that Darren’s fingers turn white. “Last part, honey. Almost done now,” he swears.

“Okay, it looks like we got what we need,” Dr. Milligan announces as he steps back at last. Immediately, Chris' body slumps towards Darren. He's not sure if it's due to gratitude that it's over, exhaustion, pain, or some combination of the three.

“Good job,” Darren says, his voice thick with relief. He waits for Chris to open his eyes, but he's gone utterly still and silent. His brow is tensed as he continues to tightly hold Darren's hand. Somehow, seeing Chris so quiet and unmoving unnerves Darren more than seeing him in obvious pain.

Darren finally feels brave enough to glance over at Dr. Milligan, watching him apply some type of bandage to the back of Chris’ hip. His gaze keeps dancing back and forth between the doctor and Chris, waiting for him to come back to himself. He doesn't like how pale and motionless Chris is.

Dr. Milligan nods with finality as he secures the fourth side of the bandage with adhesive tape. “Okay Chris, can you roll towards me onto your back? That'll help keep pressure on the biopsy site to make sure that it doesn't bleed or bruise too much.”

Chris frowns, but slowly, _painfully_ , does what's asked of him. He lets out a soft, distressed cry as he rolls over onto his bandaged hip.

“Chris?” Darren calls again, cupping his cheek. “Hey, can you look at me for a second?”

It feels like it takes an extremely long time before Chris responds, eventually blinking up at Darren through watery eyes.

“Are you still in pain?” he asks with concern.

Chris nods miserably, wincing a little.

“Okay, let me tell them,” Darren sighs heavily, hating every second that Chris is suffering. “Can you give him something more for the pain now that the test is over?” he all but insists.

“Of course,” Dr. Milligan agrees, conferring with the nurse for a moment. She goes to retrieve a syringe from a locked cabinet. Seconds later, she's injecting the contents into Chris' IV line. He just hopes it'll help more than the sedative did.

While they wait for the medication to kick in, Darren strokes a hand over the downy soft fuzz beginning to grow back on Chris' head. It's rare that Chris leaves the house without a hat these days, still self-conscious about losing his hair and not wanting to risk being photographed. However, that all went out the window the second he was admitted to the hospital. It's been nearly three weeks since his last chemotherapy session, which has given his body just enough of a break that some fine hairs are starting to sprout again. He'd first noticed it a few nights ago when he was cuddling with Chris in his hospital bed and he hasn't wanted to stop touching the hair regrowth since then. It's just so _soft_.

“Is my head your lucky charm now?” Chris chuckles quietly. Darren only has to take one look at him to know he's feeling a lot better, most of the earlier tension gone from his face and body.

“Maybe. Want to tell me what my winning lottery numbers should be?” Darren jokes.

“I'll have to get back to you on that,” Chris slurs.

“Feeling better now, sweetheart?” he smiles.

“Yes, finally,” he breathes. “That still sucked a lot though.”

“I know. You are so much braver than I ever could’ve been. I would have been sobbing like a six year old girl,” Darren speaks with reverent awe.

“Probably,” Chris agrees. “You're kind of a wimp.”

Darren grins, feeling the last bit of tension bleed out of his neck and shoulders now that he knows Chris is okay. He pulls off his mask, assuming it's probably safe since the procedure is over, and bends to kiss Chris' forehead. "Hi," he murmurs.

Dr. Milligan finishes typing something into the computer and then walks over to Chris' bedside. “I take it that the pain medicine did the trick?” he prompts, noticing Chris' slightly dopey expression. Darren and Chris nod in unison.

“Excellent news. Alright, I'm going to have you lay here for another thirty minutes or so to make sure the biopsy site has stopped bleeding and then they'll take you back up to your room. You should rest for the remainder of the day. Don't try to get up without help and definitely don’t engage in any exercise or strenuous activity,” he explains.

“Um, that won't be a problem,” Chris makes a face. “I'm not exactly training for a marathon right now, Doc.”

“Hey, we'll have you back to marathons in no time,” Dr. Milligan banters back. “Although I might suggest starting with a 5K, just to be on the safe side?”

“Can I get that in writing?” Darren asks, half serious. “We're still on track for Chris to get released tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, that's the plan. Everything looks good,” he reassures. “I'll be by in the morning to round on you one last time and then we'll try to get you out of here around lunchtime.”

“Wonderful,” Darren says, beaming at Chris. “Thank you.” Chris waves as Dr. Milligan leaves the room, the nurse following close behind him.

“Hi,” Chris calls softly once they are alone, reaching out a finger to tweak Darren's nose. He nearly misses it and pokes Darren in the eye instead.

“How high would you say are right now?” Darren giggles. “Like ballpark figure.”

“Depends on the scale,” Chris hums.

“Uh okay, one to ten, where one is stone cold sober and ten is tripping balls?”

“Hmm,” Chris furrows his brow in concentration, “a five maybe? Or a six? I'm not seeing dancing pink cartoon elephants or anything, but...”

“But?” Darren prods when Chris just trails off mid sentence.

“Don't know. I forgot what I was going to say. Probably not important,” Chris yawns.

“My little stoner,” Darren chuckles, rubbing Chris' arm. “Glad you're enjoying yourself now at least.”

“Yep, much better than before,” Chris sing-songs.

“Sleepy?” Darren wonders.

“Kinda, although this table is so uncomfortable, it's like laying on a slab of granite,” he whines. “Not exactly ideal napping conditions.”

“Poor baby,” Darren pouts. “How about we both take a nap when we get back to your room?”

“No sex,” Chris admonishes.

“I... wasn't planning on it?” Darren is bewildered.

“Doc said no stren – strenu -” Chris stumbles over the word.

“Strenuous activity?” Darren helps.

“Yes, that. None of that or exercise. I think sex probably counts as both,” Chris sighs heavily.

“That is a true tragedy, but I'll try to keep it in my pants since it's for your health,” he teases.

“Such a philanthropist. They should give you an award. Maybe a medal?” Chris suggests.

“What would the medal say?” Darren laughs.

“Resisted the full Chris Colfer charm offensive for the good of the nation... or something,” Chris shrugs.

“And you say I'm the ridiculous one?” Darren huffs with mock exasperation. “We should get you high more often. It's fun.”

“Hey, I have cancer! You know what that means?” Chris exclaims.

“No?” Darren's not sure when cancer became a cause for such excitement.

“Medical marijuana. Dude, why have we not exploited this until now?” Chris' eyes light up.

“I thought you said you didn't like the way it made you feel?” Darren reminds him.

“I don't really like the way cancer makes me feel either though. Maybe they'd cancel each other out?” Chris suggests.

Darren wants to laugh but he's not sure if Chris is being serious or not, so he doesn't. “How about this – if you still remember this conversation after your nap, we'll discuss it, okay?”

“Deal,” Chris agrees. “Has it been thirty minutes yet? I'm bored,” he grumbles.

“We've got a little while longer, I'm afraid.”

“Boo, entertain me,” Chris demands.

“What, my sparkling conversation skills aren't enough for you?” Darren pretends to be aggrieved when Chris shakes his head no. “Okay fine, how would you suggest that I entertain you then?”

“Dunno,” Chris cocks his head to the side, thinking hard. “Dance.”

“Dance?” Darren makes a disbelieving face. “You want me to dance for you?”

“Yep,” Chris nods.

“You realize I'm not a trained monkey, right?” Darren huffs.

“Are you sure? You're pretty hairy right now,” Chris remarks, reaching out his hand to stroke Darren's beard. “Now dance for me, monkey.”

“Hard pass.”

“You mean to tell me that your poor pathetic boyfriend not only has cancer but also just had a doctor drill into his hipbone like he was mining for gold, and you're going to deny him in his hour of need? Wow, no medal for you. I changed my mind,” Chris shakes his head in disappointment.

“I'm not a trained dancer. That's you, Mr. Single Ladies,” Darren teases.

“Yes, I'm aware that you'll never be able to move your hips as well as me. Almost no one can, except for maybe Beyonce,” Chris scoffs. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.”

“Wow, so modest. Sorry if I want to preserve one tiny shred of dignity. If that makes me a monster, so be it,” he exhales dramatically.

“Who said you even had any dignity left? Besides, it's totally overrated,” Chris babbles. “Are you going to entertain me or not?”

“Chris,” Darren sighs, “is this all some very elaborate set up for a prank? Is Ashton Kutcher going to come out the second I start dancing and tell me I'm being punked?”

“Nope, I wouldn't lie. Look at me, I'm soooooo innocent,” Chris smiles wickedly.

“Super convincing.”

“Don't you love me?” Chris shoots Darren his best puppy dog eyes.

“You know that I do, idiot. I just wasn't aware that dancing awkwardly in a hospital room was one of the ways I was supposed to demonstrate my love and devotion to you. I guess the movies got it wrong if they think romance is about flowers and chocolates and poetry. Clearly, it's about being willing to make a total fool out of yourself for your partner's benefit, hmm?” Darren rolls his eyes.

“So, that means you're going to dance, right?” Chris nudges, single minded in his desire.

“I guess so, since you leave me no other choice,” Darren groans, climbing to his feet. “How do you expect me to dance without music, exactly?”

“Give me your phone,” Chris commands, reaching out a hand.

Darren digs it out of his pocket and unlocks it, passing it over to Chris. “It's mostly indie music, not exactly ideal dancing tunes,” he warns.

But Chris seems to know what he's looking for and a few seconds later, Darren hears Single Ladies playing out of the slightly tinny speakers of his iPhone. “I definitely didn't have this song on my iTunes,” he insists.

“That's why God invented YouTube. I had to improvise,” Chris explains. “I want to see how much you learned from watching me do this night after night on the tour.

“God,” Darren chokes out. “You weren't supposed to notice quite how much I uh, _appreciated_ your moves, if you catch my drift.”

“The leotard did it for you, yeah?” Chris smiles, slow and sleepy.

“It was less the leotard and more your body in the leotard. But yes, it did it for me. Still does, I suspect, though we'd have to do the proper research to know for sure,” Darren grins.

“Sadly, I don't think I packed any spandex for my extended convalescence. Also, you better get your ass in gear, buddy. The song's already half over!” Chris protests.

Darren's cheeks flame red as he makes a very half-hearted effort to move his hips to the beat of the music. Chris rolls his eyes, looking entirely unimpressed.

“Darren, what's that expression: if you can't do something right, why bother doing it at all?” Chris scolds him. “I mean seriously, you and I just spent what… five years together on a show about singing and dancing teenagers? That means you aren't fooling me with this 'Oh, I'm Darren Criss, I don't know what music even is, guys. And dancing, what's that? I wouldn't know. I'm just a baby penguin' routine. I've seen you use your hips _way_ better than this before. Now, let's take it from the top, shall we?”

“I take back everything I ever said about getting you high more often. I've clearly made a huge mistake. You turn into a harsh taskmaster when you’re drugged up, apparently,” Darren moans.

“You say that like it's a bad thing. I always boss you around. This is nothing new,” Chris shrugs, rewinding the song back to the opening notes.

“Yeah, you do boss me around, but usually your demands aren't quite this... um, weird? Oddly specific? Embarrassing? Pretty much all of the above,” Darren whines.

Chris folds his arms across his chest, obviously unmoved by his complaints. He clicks the button and the song begins playing again. Chris simply glares at Darren, waiting.

Darren's about to open his mouth to protest one final time when the door swings open and in walks the nurse. “Oh thank god,” he breathes.

“Everything okay?” she asks, frowning a little.

“You just saved what’s left of my dignity and you don't even know it,” Darren tells her, barely resisting the urge to give her a hug as well.

“Okay, that's... good, I guess?” The nurse looks confused. She walks over to Chris, peering at his vital signs on the monitor. “And how are we doing over here?”

“Great,” Chris grins. "We were just having a dance party.”

“I hope you weren't the one doing the dancing?” she laughs. “Pretty sure Dr. Milligan wouldn't be too happy if you were.”

“Nope, no dancing for me,” Chris lets out a dramatic sigh of disappointment.

The nurse directs him to roll onto his side again so she can check the bandage. She looks pleased to see that there’s minimal bleeding.

“Ready to head back to your room?” she inquires of Chris once he's settled.

“Yes please, I'm sleepy,” Chris yawns.

“Me too,” Darren agrees, stretching his arms over his head.

“Hey, come here,” Chris requests, reaching out a hand towards Darren and beckoning him closer.

“What's up?” he says, leaning over Chris' bed while they wait for an orderly to transport him back to his hospital room.

“This isn't over,” Chris' tone is slightly menacing.

“Our grudge match?” Darren's bewildered.

“Our dance off. You still owe me one dance and you have to pay up eventually,” Chris insists.

“Man, and you claim that _I_ am the stubborn one?” Darren scoffs. “So bossy.” He rubs the back of his hand against Chris' cheek, watching his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “See that?" he crows triumphantly. "You're tired. Nap first, then maybe there can be a round two of our dance party, deal?”

“Cheater,” Chris murmurs sleepily.

“It's not my fault that I can read you like a book,” Darren smiles.

Chris is asleep before they even make it to the elevator.

* * *

“Okay, I think that's the last of it,” Darren announces as he walks back into Chris' hospital room. “You really didn't want to keep any of those flowers or gift baskets for yourself?”

“Nah, if I kept even half of the fruit baskets friends and people from work sent me, I could probably start my very own Farmer's Market. It's way too much stuff and you know I'm barely eating anything right now as it is. It would all go to waste. Better that we divvy it up between our families and give the rest to charity,” Chris explains.

“If you say so. My mom said thanks for the lilies, by the way. Those are her favorite,” Darren reports.

“I’m aware,” Chris smiles knowingly.

“You did? How? Even I didn't know that...” Darren's impressed.

“It pays to charm the future mother-in-law, though I could never reveal my sources,” Chris' eyes sparkle with mirth.

“Future mother-in-law, huh? Isn't that a little presumptuous of you? I don't see any ring on your finger just yet,” Darren teases.

“Oh please, you wanted to marry me since the day you first met me,” Chris rolls his eyes. “It's only a matter of time. I figure it helps to start the charming process early, especially since Lucy already got a head start on me by giving your parents their first grandchild,” Chris says.

“So, the way to a mother-in-law's heart is through flowers, huh? Duly noted. What's your mom's favorite flower?” Darren asks.

“Uh, azaleas, I think? Probably pink ones,” Chris replies. 

“Well, I better get to work on charming Karyn Colfer then, since apparently you've been putting in the ground work with my mom for a while now.”

“Oh honey, please, she's already been thoroughly charmed by you. You've spent months tending her son's fevered brow. That earns you _all_ the bonus points,” Chris encourages.

“Score, glad my nursemaid skills have been put to good use.”

There's a soft knock at the door and then Dr. Milligan pokes his head in. “Just who we were hoping to see!” Darren exclaims. “Does this mean we get to fly the coop soon?”

“Yes, we should have you out of here shortly, but first I wanted to give you some good news,” he announces.

“ _More_ good news?” Chris asks. “Better than going home?”

“Well, I'll let you two be the judge of that. I have the results of your bone marrow biopsy and PET scan here and they both look very encouraging,” he explains with a wide smile.

Darren sits down on the bed next to Chris, feeling his heartbeat quicken. “What exactly does that mean?”

“The cancer is responding very well to the chemotherapy regimen, so much so that I feel confident that you won't need any radiation. In fact, I think all you’ll need to do is finish out the remaining three cycles of chemotherapy to make sure there are no residual cancer cells left behind. Once that’s done, we’ll consider you in remission.”

Darren's jaw drops, momentarily speechless. To go from Chris nearly dying to hearing that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, that Chris can be _cured_ and very soon, well, it's more than he dared to dream for. “Remission?” he repeats to himself. “Really?”

“Really,” Dr. Milligan echoes.

Chris grabs Darren by the shoulder and tugs him down for a kiss, not even caring that they have an audience. By the time they pull back, both their faces are damp with happy tears and they can't stop beaming at one another.

“I'll leave you two alone to... celebrate,” Dr. Milligan laughs.

“Wait, hang on, Doc. You aren't getting out of here without a hug,” Darren admonishes, hopping to his feet and crossing the room in three long strides. “Thank you,” he says as he wraps his arms around Chris' oncologist. “Just... thank you.”

“It's been my pleasure, but you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon. I'll still be seeing Chris for regular checkups and such for the time being,” Dr. Milligan reminds him.

“Of course,” Darren agrees. He won't mind continuing to see Dr. Milligan one bit. Darren's already planning monuments to the man who saved his boyfriend. Numerous statues should be erected in his honor for healing the person that Darren holds most dear in all the world.

“Alright, I'm off to check on another patient now. Enjoy getting to go home and sleeping in your own bed, Chris,” Dr. Milligan encourages.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” Chris practically cheers.

Darren shuts the door behind the Dr. Milligan and then does his own little private happy dance.

“Gee Darren, how do you feel about this news? It's really hard to tell. You're such a quiet, introverted individual that it’s difficult to read you,” Chris comments archly.

Darren flops down on the bed next to Chris. “You know what, Mr. Colfer? I feel pretty damn good about this news. Actually no, scratch that. I feel fucking _amazing_ ,” he sighs happily. He looks up at Chris, still grinning away. “How about you?”

“Relieved, mainly, and happy too, don't get me wrong. I just don't know how long it'll take for the fear to go away?” Chris wonders aloud.

“Fear over what?” Darren asks, though he's got a pretty good idea of what he'll say.

“The cancer coming back. I assume it'll take some time to get life back to normal, you know? And that's really all I want at this point: normalcy. I don't need anything special or fantastic. I just want you and our life together,” Chris' voice is hushed and reverent.

“And you _will_ get that. We're going to get that again and very, very soon. I know it'll be hard to put this behind us completely - trust me, I know. It'll be hard for me too. But it'll get easier every single day, I suspect. And no matter what happens, we'll do it together. That's what's really important in the end, right?” Darren asks, picking up Chris' hand and threading their fingers together. “What matters isn't the journey, but the companion.”

“When did you get so wise?” Chris smiles softly.

“Excuse you, I've _always_ been wise. You just never wanted to listen to my wisdom before,” Darren pouts. “And speaking of journeys...”

“...let's get ours on the road and go home?” Chris fills in helpfully.

“No, not that. Well yes, let's go home too. I'm down for that. But I was thinking now that we have our very, very good news, I could book us that vacation we've been talking about taking forever. How does Paris at Christmastime sound to you?” Darren inquires.

“Sounds perfect, as long as you're there with me.”

* * *

They don't end up making it to Paris for Christmas, because after the year Chris has had, his parents kind of _insist_ on spending at least part of the holidays with him. They could have invited their families along and celebrated Christmas in Paris together, Darren supposes, but that wouldn't have been quite the romantic trip they'd been dreaming of for so long. Instead, they land in Paris on the morning of New Year's Eve, which winds up being even better. After all, everyone knows that Christmas is for families, but New Year's Eve? That's for lovers. And Darren and Chris have a lot of lost time to make up for.

They quickly breeze through the reception area and check in before taking their private elevator to the penthouse suite. Darren takes advantage of the quiet and privacy by working Chris up against the elevator wall as he unbuttons his collar and kisses along his collarbones. It'll be a miracle if they make it inside the front door of their suite before they make good on the shimmering heat and tension that's been buzzing under their skin since they boarded the plane some twelve hours ago.

Darren unlocks their hotel room door with one hand while he keeps the other secured around Chris' waist, laughing as they both almost go down on the rug.

“That's highly dangerous - we should sue,” Chris grumbles without any heat behind it.

“What’s dangerous? Me trying to sex you up whilst opening the door at the same time?” Darren laughs.

“No, that rug. It's a fall hazard,” Chris pouts at it as if it's sentient.

“I'll be sure to note it on my comment card, weirdo. Now will you get back over here and kiss me?”

“No,” Chris shakes his head emphatically.

“No?” Darren frowns. “Since when do you turn down sex?”

“It's not just _any_ sex that I want. Do you know how long I've been looking forward to this trip?' Chris asks.

“Yes, of course I do,” Darren acknowledges. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Did you know,” Chris says conversationally, “that they have a jacuzzi hot tub in the master suite that can seat six? It can be completely filled with water in five minutes and it even has wine glass holders built into the side of the tub.”

“Huh, and where did you learn that exactly?” Darren asks, grinning wickedly.

“The hotel website. It had lots of very... stimulating material,” Chris winks.

“Oh, it did, did it?” Darren laughs. “So, where are the other four people that will be joining us in the hot tub for sex? Or do I have to go down to the bar and procure them myself?”

“Darren!” Chris gives him a scandalized look. “There will be no six-ways tonight. You'll have to put up with just little old me, I'm afraid.”

He pretends to pout. “Will you be naked?” he deliberates.

“You know what, I will. I find it helps to be naked for sex. I'm just experimental that way, what can I say?” Chris shrugs.

“I think I'm amenable to those terms then,” Darren agrees at last.

“Excellent, I'll go fill the tub. Grab some champagne and also the chocolate covered strawberries. You did order those ahead of time like I told you, right?” Chris calls down the hall as he walks to the bathroom to start filling the tub.

“Yes, of course, Bossypants. I know how cranky you get when you don't have access to chocolate, after all,” he grins. He walks back to the front entryway, picking up the small overnight bag he carried with him on the plane. He unlocks and unzips the side compartment and pulls out the small velvet box that he'd packed especially for this trip.

Darren walks back down the hall towards the sound of Chris humming to himself. God, the sound is like music to his ears. He's waited a long time to hear that sound again and there were some days he wasn't sure if they'd ever make it back here together. But miraculously, they have. Now that their entire lives stretch out before them, Darren just can’t wait another second.

He hovers in the doorway for a moment, watching the pale column of Chris' bare back as he lowers himself into the tub, sighing quietly in pleasure. Chris must feel the eyes upon him, because he turns and looks back at Darren.

“Stare much?” he teases.

“When it's you naked and looking like that? Hell yeah, I stare. I'm not even a little embarrassed about it,” Darren says, totally serious.

“Creeper. You're wearing entirely too much clothing for the tub,” Chris insists.

“About that,” Darren begins, figuring there's no time like the present. “I sort of have a little gift for you first?”

“A present? I like presents,” Chris perks up.

“You don't say,” Darren laughs as he perches on the edge of the tub in front of Chris. He pulls the box from his pocket, takes a deep breath, and passes it over to Chris. “Well, go on, open it,” he encourages.

Chris' eyes go wide with shock. “What is it?”

“What do you think?” Darren chuckles at Chris’ hesitation. “Alright fine, would you prefer the speech first?”

Chris nods slowly, seeming dazed.

“Remember a few months ago when you were still in the hospital and you mentioned something offhand about how you were pretty sure I wanted to marry you from the day we met? Well, you weren't wrong. I didn't really _know_ you then, not the way I do now anyway. I didn't know just how much we would come to mean to one another. But from the very beginning, I recognized something special in you. We're kindred spirits in our own weird way, you know? Two halves of the same whole. From that very first meeting, our first _date_ , really, something about us just felt right. I knew you were meant to be in my life, though I had no idea what an important part of my life you'd become. Then, the last year happened and I was scared, _really_ scared, terrified even, because I couldn't imagine a world without you in it. It just wasn't a world I had any interest in, because I knew I’d be only half a person without you. We've fought like hell to get here, to be together and happy and healthy and _whole_ again, and I'm done waiting. I'm done overthinking. I want you. Everything else is just icing on the cake. I love you and I’m certain that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, Christopher Paul Colfer, will you marry me?” he finishes in a rush, voice husky with emotion.

Chris opens his mouth several times to speak but no sound comes out. His gaze flickers between the ring box in Darren's hand and his face. When he finally manages to get out the words, they aren’t what Darren was expecting at all.

“Darren, did you just propose to me while I was naked and in a bathtub?” Chris gasps, looking down at his very nude body.

“Uh, yes? Although it was pre-coital nakedness, if that helps my case any,” Darren manages somewhat apologetically.

“It really doesn't,” Chris breaks into a helpless peal of laughter.

“Sorry? I just couldn't wait any longer. I plead sentimentality and nervous energy,” he explains.

“Well, that helps a little,” Chris smiles.

“Enough for you to say yes?” he prods, feeling vulnerable and exposed with how badly he needs Chris to say yes.

“Oh, is that what you're waiting on? Hmm, let's see, what should I say,” Chris strokes his chin as if in deep thought, clearly enjoying torturing Darren.

“You're killing me here,” Darren groans.

“Okay fine, it's a yes, as if you even had to ask. Now give me the ring,” Chris beams. He holds out his shaking hand, waiting while Darren plucks the simple platinum band from the velvet-lined box and carefully slides it onto Chris' finger.

“Wow,” Chris says, his voice full of reverence. “See, this is why Paris is my favorite place on earth. I'm just sorry it took us so long to get back here.”

“But we made it here and that's what matters, right?” Darren acknowledges.

“No, what matters is that you're the one who's here with me. Everything else is just details.”


End file.
